


And I Am Also Quite Blind

by AconitumNapellus



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Operation: Annihilate, Slash, blind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AconitumNapellus/pseuds/AconitumNapellus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Spock's blinding in Operation Annihilate, Jim tries to help him through his pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_And I am also quite blind…_

Those words reverberated through Kirk’s mind. How Spock could say it, so prosaic, so factual…

He had not been able to face him – had not been able to keep his own eyes on Spock’s blind ones for more than a few minutes. McCoy would take care of him. McCoy would take care of him, and he, the captain, would continue about his duty, continue with the lives of a million people resting in his hands, continue with _everything_ resting on his shoulders.

He sighed, folding his arms across his face, pressing hard to shut out the light. How would they survive this? How would he and Spock continue through this?

After a while he uncovered his eyes again, blinking in the brightness after absolute dark as the thought struck him that Spock could not do this now. He turned his head, his gaze falling on a book left on the shelf by the bed, carefully aligned at ninety degrees to the decorative panel that separated living from sleeping quarters, and with no bookmark because Spock, of course, never forgot his place. Spock had been reading The Odyssey, on Kirk’s recommendation.

Guilt and grief stabbed through him. Sam, dead, Aurelan, dead, little Peter still unconscious and riven with pain even in his sleep. And Spock, not dead, no longer in pain, but his sight burned out of his eyes because one of Kirk’s thousands of command decisions had finally gone wrong.

The intercom whistled. Jim did not have the energy or inclination to answer it, but he did so anyway. It was his duty, and he would be damned if he did not do his duty.

‘Captain,’ McCoy said, and Jim could still hear the tightness of anger laced through his voice.

‘What is it, Bones?’ Kirk asked tiredly. ‘You shouldn’t need me for another few hours.’

‘ _I_  don’t need you,’ McCoy said meaningfully, ‘but I can’t do any more for Spock in sick bay. There’s no need for him to be there, and he’d rather be in familiar surroundings.’

‘You don’t need my permission to clear him for release, doctor,’ Kirk said impatiently.

He did not want to think of Spock any more. Just for a few hours he wanted to block his existence right out of his mind, no matter how cruel that decision seemed. For a few hours he wanted to be a rock, without love or friendship or any of the attending pain.

‘I’m not releasing him to sit on his own, blind, goddammit,’ McCoy said with a stronger edge of anger. ‘I want to know if you’re in your quarters so he can stay with you.’

Jim hesitated. He was bone-tired. He was scared. Yes, he had to admit that to himself. He was scared of being with Spock, scared of looking at him like that, less than capable, wrapped in his own personal fear.

‘ _Jim_ ,’ McCoy said with hissing impatience.

‘Oh. Yes, of course, Bones,’ he said. How could he refuse? ‘Bring him down. I’ll be here.’

He lay back on the bed, folding his arm over his eyes again, letting the darkness settle. But the door buzzer jarred into the silence. He jerked upright, almost angry now. It was late, and he had set his privacy status to high. No one should have come to his door without contacting him via intercom first.

‘All right, what – ‘ he began as the door slid open.

Spock stood there, pale faced and rigid, with McCoy beside him.

‘Spock,’ Kirk stuttered. He was not ready for this… ‘Bones, you only just called. You must have been – ‘

McCoy nodded at the intercom just down the corridor.

‘All right,’ Jim said, masking over his annoyance in deference to Spock. ‘Come in.’

‘You don’t need me, Jim,’ McCoy said meaningfully, touching Spock’s arm to nudge him forward. ‘I’ve given Spock all the advice I can to help him. There’s nothing else I can do.’ He paused a moment, then said, ‘I’ll get back to my work in sick bay, Captain.’

Kirk stood, silent, as McCoy turned and stalked off down the corridor. The doctor was angry with him. He understood that. He was angry at himself.

‘Jim,’ Spock said in an uncertain voice, and Kirk’s attention snapped back to him. He was taking tiny, tentative steps into the room, one hand angled out a little before him.

As the door closed behind the Vulcan the fear and guilt and anger melted into one and fell away. They could be picked up later. For now, there was simply Spock, standing in the entrance to his quarters, his face pale and his lips tight, his eyes fixed on nothing.

Jim stepped forward and took him in his arms, holding him more tightly than he had in a week, feeling the warmth of his skin through his clothes and the solidity of flesh and muscle and bone beneath his palms. He had been so, so close to losing him to the predation of that abhorrent creature. For a week he had been tight with pain, his skin seeming thinned by it, his bones made sharp by it. He had seemed so fragile he would break. He had never slept, only sat in the chair at the desk, his sinews rigid with control, reading or absorbing information from the computer screen, pressing himself on through the pain as if it were an arduous journey he had to complete.

Now he was soft, somehow collapsed inside. At Jim’s touch he leant forward, his hands coming up to enclose Jim’s back, tentative at first but then desperate and needful. His head was pressed against Jim’s own, he was inhaling deeply, taking in the scent and the presence of his captain as if he had been alone for years.

‘Jim,’ he said in a faltering tone.

‘It’s all right,’ Kirk murmured, his hands making slow circles over Spock’s back, feeling his shoulder blades and his spine and the beat of his heart. One hand moved up to cup the back of Spock’s warm neck and his lips touched the side of it, kissing him with desperate firmness.

‘No,’ Spock said, his voice hollow and quiet. ‘No, it is not.’

‘Spock…’

Kirk withdrew, stepping away a little, and Spock reached out immediately as if casting for an anchorage in tumultuous seas. Kirk caught his hand and held it hard, and then reached up and stroked the angles of Spock’s cheek and jaw, tracing a finger down the sharpness of his bones and trying not to collapse at the sight of those dark and sightless eyes.

‘It  _will_  be all right,’ Kirk promised, coming closer again, landing kisses on his cheeks and lips.

Spock started forward, yearning, finding Kirk’s lips again with his own and kissing him with desperation and anger. His hands began an urgent exploration of Jim’s face and hair, trailing the sides of his neck and his shoulders. He reached up under the uniform shirt, hands wide and flat and searching, feeling the solidity of Jim’s chest, peeling away the clothing and replacing hands with lips and beginning to taste as well as feel him. Warmth and sweat and silken skin and the light sheen of hair came to his tongue. There was a sob in his throat that he would not release. Jim could see it in the hardness in his throat, hear it in the catch in his breath.

‘We will continue to be together,’ he promised, peeling off Spock’s clothes with deft assurance. ‘Whatever happens, we will continue to be together. I won’t lose you.’

Spock was silent but for his breathing. Jim unwrapped the clothes from his body and threw them to the floor until they both stood naked in the living area of the cabin. Jim held Spock as close as he could for a long, tight moment, feeling his breathing steady and his heart rate settle.

‘Come on,’ he said in a low voice, taking Spock by the hand and leading him towards the bed. ‘Come here and be with me.’

Spock lay down on the wide mattress and Kirk knelt over him, staring at him, marvelling at the beauty of that taut, lean body. He had been so close to losing him. So close… If they had not found a way to kill the creature Spock would have killed himself, eventually. He could not have lived with the pain, made useless to himself and others by the need to control that overwhelmed every other impulse. He had lost weight already through the ravages of pain and sleep deprivation. His body had taken such punishment, and it would only have been a matter of time before his mind suffered the same.

‘Oh, Spock, Spock,’ Jim murmured, kissing him again, stroking his hands over his skin again, trying to take in all of him in infinite gratitude that he was still here, alive. Those precious hands, the delicate wrists, the fine spidering of hair over chest and stomach. That beautiful aquiline face and sculptured ears and those dark eyes, no matter the lack of light in them now. He could not see, but he was  _alive_.

Spock’s lips parted in a wordless sigh as Kirk’s mouth brushed over the length of his dark, awakening penis and then took it in, firm and secure, stroking his tongue over its length as if he wanted to consume it whole. Oh, the taste of him… How could he have turned away from him in those moments of guilt? His hand was straying over the soft, cool bag between his legs, his fingernails catching softly on the rucks of skin and then moving further back to the tight, dusky opening between his buttocks.

‘Jim,’ Spock whispered, arching up, his hand moving with certainty even without sight to find the hard and cool glass bottle of oil that stood by the bed.

Jim took it and slicked the fragrant fluid into his hands, warming it gently before letting it slip onto the Vulcan’s skin, turning his erection into a glistening column, the beauty of gravity channelling the oil down between his buttocks. Jim rubbed it, slick, into his hands, and then softly pushed one finger into the tight muscular opening. Spock gasped, arched again, raising his knees and opening himself up as Kirk explored further, massaging first one then two fingers deeper into the Vulcan’s body. His own erection was hard and eager, his skin alive with the need to feel Spock around him, the shivers moving through his abdomen and focussing in that rod of flesh.

He positioned himself and pushed, slipping with infinite care into the Vulcan’s waiting body, letting out a grunt of satisfaction as the tight heat pressed around him. Spock’s head was thrown back, his mouth part open and his eyes fluttering closed over the sightless pupils. Jim lowered his mouth to kiss him again, focussing on the dusky nipples and the whirls of hair about them, the dark trail down to the dimple of his navel, stroking his hands over the naked flanks and the parallel curving lines of his ribs. Oh, he was beautiful, and he would not let him go…

He let Spock’s legs fall wide and lowered his body over the Vulcan, always connected at that one point, kissing his mouth hungrily as he began to move. He withdrew, pushed again, setting up a rhythm, letting the flatness of his abdomen move back and forth, back and forth over Spock’s erection until the Vulcan was letting loose small moans of gratification. He slipped his hand between their bodies, gripping that hard, hot organ in tight fingers, pumping it as he continued to drive himself home into the Vulcan’s body until awareness blossomed away and fell like petals about him and he found himself lying over Spock, kissing his lips and cheeks and eyes and sobbing out some kind of incoherent utterance of apology and love into his ear.

‘Jim,’ Spock murmured, running fingers down the slick sweat that coated the human’s back. ‘Jim, Jim…’

Finally Kirk straightened up, looking down at the Vulcan, at the mat of fluid that was swirled in his hair, over his stomach and the now flaccid penis lying against his body, flushed with blood. He thought he had never seen him so beautiful.

‘Spock,’ he murmured, slipping away from him. ‘Here, let me get something to clean you up…’

Spock sat, reaching out a hand.

‘I am not ill, Jim,’ he said, his voice low and rough and still a little breathless. ‘Help me.’

Jim could not help but smile at the sight of him, his hair in disarray and his cheeks still faintly olive. He loved the way Spock looked after sex, so soft and somehow  _real_ , so close to the biological being that sometimes he seemed a million years of evolution from being.

‘Come on,’ he said, taking his hand, feeling the heat of Spock’s skin against his.

Spock stood and followed him, moving tentatively, his forehead furrowed in concentration.

‘You’re all right,’ Kirk muttered, half a question, half an assurance.

Spock nodded silently, following Jim’s guidance through the door into the bathroom. Kirk glanced at him as he moved, naked and looking oddly vulnerable with one hand holding Kirk’s and the other held out in front of him to feel for anything in his path.

‘Shower?’ Jim asked, and Spock nodded.

They stepped into the cubicle and Spock stood as Jim adjusted the settings for a water temperature bearable to both him and Spock together. He saw Spock listening, and stiffening suddenly, his lips pressing together.

‘What is it?’ Jim asked, hesitating with his hand on the dial.

‘You should not need to do this for me,’ Spock said in a low voice, a tone away from anger.

‘I won’t,’ Jim assured him, stroking his hands down his arms. ‘I won’t always. You’ll be able to work it out. Give yourself some time.’

Spock nodded, lips pursed, a look of apology in his face. Kirk turned the water on, then stroked his fingers over the Vulcan’s temples as the spray began to cascade over them both. Spock’s mind had been noticeably absent as they made love – always a sign that he was not content. Even now, as Kirk deliberately sent probing thoughts to his lover, there was none of the usual sparking response. There was just a darkness, or an absence of thought.

‘Spock, let me in,’ he said softly, beginning to smooth soap over the Vulcan’s shoulders and chest. ‘Don’t keep me away from you at a time like this.’

There was a momentary stiffening in the Vulcan’s muscles, and he said with unusual haste, ‘As you kept me away in the lab, after – ?’

‘I’m  _sorry_ , Spock,’ Kirk said with real grief in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry. I just – didn’t know how to handle it. I do now. I’m human – please forgive my weaknesses.’

Spock reached out with one hand, running the edge of his finger down Jim’s cheek, touching his lips and then continuing down, using both hands now with fingers spread out to read the contours of his chest.

‘I am Vulcan,’ he countered softly. ‘Please forgive  _my_  weaknesses. I – am scared, Jim…’

‘I know,’ Jim said, pulling him close, holding him still until the continual flow of the water. ‘I can feel it. But I will always be here. I will  _always_  be here.’

‘ _I_  may not always be here,’ Spock said hesitantly. ‘I am blind.’

‘Spock, we don’t need to – ’ Jim began, but Spock cut him off, his voice becoming strained.

‘I cannot continue on the  _Enterprise_. I cannot live here merely as your consort. Starfleet does not allow such privileges.’

‘Not right now, Spock,’ Kirk pressed him, stroking his hands over him through the water that streamed down his back. ‘We don’t need to talk about this right now. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Wherever you go, I will be with you. Now, be quiet and let me clean you off. I want to be allowed the privilege of being close to you. I need it after today.’

Spock bowed his head, becoming still and letting Jim’s hands move over him, cleaning his abdomen and then moving down to soap his thighs and buttocks. Jim’s hands slipped over his skin with firm caresses, feeling the solidity of his muscles with a strange, sharp feeling of grief inside him. Spock was so lean and fit and active. How could he reconcile that life of ceaseless activity with the veil that had been drawn over his eyes? How would he ever manage?

He straightened up, looking into Spock’s face again. He had to stop thinking like that. He wasn’t looking at Spock rationally. They both served in a force that saw its fair share of accidents. He had heard of – he had  _met_  – fleet veterans before who had lost their sight in various ways, who were moving on to lead perfectly active and useful lives. Some even stayed in the fleet. But Spock… His heart contracted again. He could not look at Spock like that, as one of the unfortunate ones, one of those people who were lauded as brave and special, who were looked at through the glaze of pity by those lucky enough to still be whole and hale.

‘Come on,’ he said finally, turning the water off as he realised that he had just been standing still in the shower watching Spock’s face. ‘Let’s go eat. You must be starving after this last week.’

Spock followed him again, dripping with water, and Kirk found him his robe and then walked with his arm about his back into his rooms again. Spock sat, damp and enclosed in his towelling robe, in his accustomed chair by the desk while Jim began to arrange a platter of the Vulcan’s favourite foods. No doubt Spock would barely taste what he was eating, preoccupied as he was, but Jim saw no reason to stint him.

‘There,’ he said, putting a plate down before him with the cutlery neatly wrapped in a napkin beside it.

Spock was silent and pale-faced again, but Jim was not surprised. This was how Spock dealt with such things. He pushed them away and did not speak of them and pretended and pretended that he was not hurting inside.

‘Spock,  _eat_ ,’ Kirk urged him. ‘You haven’t eaten in days.’

Spock reached cautious fingers out to the plate, finding the cutlery with fumbling movements, his head lowered in concentration and – something else. Embarrassment, Jim realised suddenly. Spock was ashamed of his inability.

‘It’s fine,’ Jim said. ‘Just eat. I don’t care how you do it. Just get some food inside you.’

‘What am I eating?’ Spock asked in a taut voice.

Jim described the contents of the plate with great care, and Spock nodded, lifting his fork and toying experimentally with the food. He tried not to watch as Spock began to eat, focussing instead on his own plate, but he could not help see the Vulcan’s frustration building. He ate with meticulous care, no doubt with more skill than he believed he was using, and finally laid his cutlery down with faintly trembling hands.

‘Now,’ Kirk said firmly, clearing the plates away. ‘Bed. And that’s an order, Commander.’

Spock nodded silently, and stood, beginning to move carefully and without help towards the sleeping area. He removed his robe and hung it on its accustomed hook, and then turned towards Jim’s wide bed. Jim watched him, resisting help. Spock lay down, pulling the blanket over himself, and Jim went to turn the heating a little higher as he was accustomed to when Spock slept here. He picked up the copy of Odyssey, fingering it for a moment before asking, ‘Would you like me to read your book to you?’

‘No, Jim,’ Spock said quietly, turning his head towards him. ‘Thank you. I think I will just sleep.’

‘Okay,’ Kirk said, shedding his robe onto a chair and slipping in beside the Vulcan.

He turned onto his side. Spock lay very still on his back, eyes open, and Jim laid a hand on his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart.

‘Are you going to sleep?’ he asked after a long time of Spock lying silent.

‘Yes, Jim,’ Spock said quietly.

Kirk nodded. ‘Okay.’

He left his hand on Spock’s chest and reached out with the other to dim the lights, and then curled over and closed his eyes. The void of sleep would be a hard and strange place to enter this night, but he  _had_ to sleep. He had so, so many things that needed attention in the morning. He had so many things curling and weaving in his mind…

Spock continued to lie still and silent, and Jim knew he was awake, with no real intention of deliberate sleep. Eventually Jim would fall asleep and Spock would lie there still, his mind churning beneath his expressionless face. This was how it would be, until somehow Jim could break through the carapace again, and persuade Spock to move on. Tomorrow was when the dam of emotion would burst. Jim did not look forward to tomorrow.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was dark but for the dim blue light from the bedside chrono. Jim could not say what had woken him, but as he came to himself he realised that something was missing – that the warmth of the body beside him was gone.

In an instant he was awake, sitting bolt upright and flicking on the lights. He had plenty of practice at waking for red alerts. This was no different, but for the fact that the red alert was purely personal. He was in his living area before the warmth of the bed had died from his skin, but Spock was not there. He turned, quelling momentary panic and rationalising where Spock was most likely to be. He went through their shared bathroom into Spock’s own quarters, flicking the bedroom lights on as he entered.

There, veiled by the perforated screen that separated the bedroom from the still dark living area, was Spock. Spock, apparently doing nothing but sitting very still in his desk chair. It would be easy to believe that he had fallen asleep there.

Jim was not fooled for an instant.

‘Spock,’ he said quietly, stepping forward into the room.

The movement of Spock’s head was almost imperceptible in the dim light.

‘You okay?’ Jim asked, moving forward into the living area.

Spock hesitated. His hands were steepled in the meditation position, but he did not look as if he were rising from a calming interlude of thought. He was still naked, his hair still tousled with sleep. His cheeks were flushed as if his heart had been racing.

‘Do I have to make suppositions?’ Jim asked as he rounded the desk. ‘Couldn’t sleep? A nightmare?’

The slight flinch in Spock’s features told him his second guess was correct.

‘How long have you been sitting here?’ he asked, reaching out to touch the Vulcan’s shoulder and feel the relative chill of his skin. ‘Long enough to get cold. You didn’t turn the cabin temp up.’

‘Eleven point three nine minutes,’ Spock said abstractedly. ‘I couldn’t access – ’ His hands clenched momentarily, his voice shaking a little. ‘I couldn’t access the controls,’ he said in a carefully steady tone.

Jim crossed to the controls and swiftly turned the heating up until it was a little higher than Spock’s normal setting. He stared at the touchpad for a little longer than normal. The thing was digital and almost entirely smooth, relying entirely on sight to operate. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to design something so inaccessible to the blind.

‘Come to your bed,’ he said softly to Spock. ‘You can warm up, and we can lie together, and you can tell me about it.’

Spock obeyed him without protest, moving almost as if he were still in a dream.

‘Tell me about it,’ Jim said, lying beside him and stroking his fingertips across Spock’s face. He closed his own eyes, not wanting to look into Spock’s sightless ones. He could feel the turmoil in Spock’s mind sparking through his touch.

Spock reached his own hand up to touch Jim’s face, his fingers settling by instinct in the meld position.

‘May I?’ he asked.

‘Go ahead,’ Jim murmured, preparing himself for the mental joining. He had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be easy.

He fell into a maelstrom that he could not control.

_His body is on fire, every joint constricted with stinging pain. He is a ruin being overwhelmed by vines in a high-speed film, each tendril seeking to press between blocks and prise the building apart, each tendril becoming white and gelatinous, becoming the spawn of that hateful creature, being inside_ him _, trying to prise his bones apart and ruin him. Infiltrating his lungs like the stab of a thousand sea urchins, infiltrating every soft part of his body, jellyfish drifting in and stinging and then gripping with their twisting, merciless strands and cinching more tightly than a garrotte held by a murderer._

_The pushing, the urging, the knowledge that if he obeys the pain will stop, if he obeys he will be drifting in perfect calm, he will be dropped like a puppet at the end of the show._

_He will not be, of course he will not be. Obedience is illogical. The creature will pressure, pressure, pressure, until all use is wrung from him. Its promises are lies. Everything is a lie. The world outside is starting to seem less real than the pain, but the pain is a lie. The pain is in the mind. A figment, a figment… The stuttering of his thoughts. Control, disobedience, the pressure always on his spine and lungs and in his neck and his hands and down the lengths of his legs. He has to control, he has to…_

_He is a shell. He is a walking shell. He presents a face of calm but his body is burning. His body is being shredded inside by pain. The promise. The promise of relief. The chamber with the light in it. He can not wait, he can not, he can not… The creature knows. The creature understands. He has to kill it before it takes him over._

_McCoy’s voice._ I’ll rig up a protective pair of goggles.

_He cannot wait. He cannot wait. He says something to forestall it. His relief as Jim agrees. He has to get in there now, before he is ripped apart by pain. His outside is a lie. His outside is a shell. There is nothing but pain. He can feel the chair against his back, the chair under his hands. The light so bright it pierces the thin tissue of his eyelids. The scream of the creature inside him as it begins to burn. The gradual tailing off of the pain until all that is left is a ghost. All that is left is an afterimage of its tendrils, and the blissful floating_ nothing _that is an absence of pain._

_He is dazzled. He opens his eyes. The world is a mist of white, a firework explosion of white in front of him. The door opens and he stands, waiting for the mist to clear. The mist is an afterimage. The mist is his brain reminding him of light. The whiteness begins to fade and he waits, waits. He walks forward and_ hits _, hard, into a sharp edge. The mist has faded to black. There is nothing but the sounds of Jim and McCoy and the feel of the desk where it has hit his thigh, and he knows he is blind._

That was not the dream, Jim knew. That was a memory, an explanation of what Spock had been through to cause such turmoil in his mind.

‘Tell me, Spock. Please tell me,’ he murmured. He repeated his plea mentally, reaching down into Spock’s mind, trying to find the thoughts that Spock wanted to repress.

The dream came in incoherent flashes, sight and blindness intertwining, pain clawing through his body like the drag of barbed wire. Helplessness, reaching out, reaching out through a white haze that faded to black, reaching for Jim and his fingers falling short. Deneva screaming because he had failed, because he was helpless, out of commission, left on high ground with no way to turn. It was too much, too hard to go through again, the emotions raging and out of control.  _Too much. Just too much..._

Spock pulled out of the mind link abruptly, his breathing ragged and heavy for a moment as he sought to compose himself.

‘Spock,’ Jim said softly, reaching his arms around the Vulcan’s body and holding him tightly. He could feel Spock’s heart beating hard against his ribs. 

Spock was silent, his lips bitten hard together, his eyes closed. His eyelashes were wet. Jim stroked his back and tried to press calm into him.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you, it’s going to be all right.’

He knew what an empty promise that was. He could do nothing about Spock’s eyes. He could do nothing to help him. His future was in all probability off the ship, out of Starfleet. But he kept saying it, murmuring it close to Spock’s ear, ‘It’s going to be all right, Spock.’

He laid his lips on the Vulcan’s cheek and held them there for a long moment before he kissed him. He could feel a kind of relaxation seeping into his lover’s bones. Spock was tired. He had to be utterly exhausted. He eased his arms out from around him and gently stroked Spock’s sharp cheekbone, stroke after stroke. Spock’s eyes remained closed, but gradually the lids began to seem more relaxed. After ten minutes he could feel that the Vulcan’s heartbeat had softened and his breathing was coming softly and slowly from between his lips.

He extracted himself wearily and walked over to Spock’s desk. He sat in the chair there and lowered his head onto his folded arms. What a mess this was. Spock, poor Spock, his career in tatters, his life cruelly shoved off the rails. All those people down on Deneva waiting for help. Everything,  _everything_ pushing down on  _his_ shoulders, all resting on  _his_ command. He wanted Spock to be the only thing in his mind right now, but there were a million others who were relying on him.

He turned the computer on, going listlessly over the duty roster, then scanning through all of the various departmental reports on the Deneva crisis. Dr McCoy’s was the most harrowing because of the details of Sam’s and Aurelan’s deaths, the details of Spock’s blinding, the in-depth report on the effects of the parasites on the human and Vulcan nervous systems. And little Petey was still there in an artificial coma, waiting for the treatment to be perfected so that he could be freed. When he woke, then what? He was an orphan, all alone in the world. Sure, he had his brothers, both much older, neither of them on Deneva, but what were brothers to the loss of a parent? He recalled losing his own father with such a mixture of pain and regret that he could not stand it. He buried these things. He always buried these things.

Perhaps Petey could go live with his grandmother. Jim didn’t know about Aurelan. He thought she was an only child. He wasn’t even sure if her parents were living or dead. Would they have any desire to take in their grandchild?

He punched in the codes to access Aurelan’s family data. No siblings. Father living, mother dead. The father was eighty seven, and living in the Mars colonies. What kind of life would that be for a young boy? Jim’s mom at least still lived on the family farm in Iowa. He remembered his own childhood there with such fondness. Money did not have to be an issue. He was sure that something could be arranged if mom needed someone to stay to help look after a lively little boy. Petey’s brothers were not up to the task of looking after a child. One of them served on ships. The other was going through college.

He found himself running through possibilities, over and over. Peter would have to attend school. That was a given. He would need loving care, especially at this time. He would need firm guidance. He would be best on an Earth-like planet, since he had grown up on Deneva, the most Class-M planet Jim had ever been on. Really, truly, he would be best staying on Deneva, where everything was familiar – but then everything would surely be overlaid with memories of his parents, of the tragedy that had struck the entire planet. It would be a long time before Deneva recovered socially and economically. He could see a future of hunger and poverty and riots happening if the Federation did not step in with relief, and even if it did – it surely would – some of those problems would still pervade. There would be too many orphans, too many bereaved parents, too much grief. No, Petey would surely be better off on Earth, on an unbroken planet. Earth was in his blood. His species had evolved to the rhythms of its moon, its tides, to the strength of its sun and the taste of its foods.

He would have to call mom. He still hadn’t done that, hadn’t broken the news of Sam to her. He would have to do both at the same time.

He checked the chrono on the computer. It was just past five thirty ship time, and ship time was aligned to Earth US Pacific time, where Starfleet was based. It would be seven thirty for mom. He toyed with the controls for a moment, wondering if this was the right time to call, if any time was the right time to call. Mom would surely be up. She had always been an early riser – she said it was farm blood in her veins.

He made the decision very suddenly, before he could back out. He opened up a channel and requested an off-ship call to Earth. It didn’t take long before the screen flickered to life and he saw mom’s face there on the screen, smiling at him, but looking worried.

‘Jim, what’s wrong?’ she asked him instantly.

Even if he had not looked as if he had barely slept, even if his eyes had not been red rimmed and his hair every which way on his scalp, she would have asked him that, he knew.

‘Does something always have to be wrong for me to call you?’ he asked, forcing something of a laugh.

‘Jim, the last time you called me you were getting over a fever that you said could have killed you. The time before that you were in a neck brace. What’s wrong?’

He breathed out very slowly. He didn’t know how to do this. It had been a mistake. He had broken the news of death to so many people over the years, but never that of his brother to his mom.

‘Mom, I – ’ he began.

Her face seemed to lose colour. Even over millions of miles and a computer screen he could feel the rise in her anxiety.

‘Jim, what is it?’ she asked.

He didn’t know how to sugar coat it. He could already see that she was sitting down. He knew there wasn’t anyone else there he could ask her to fetch to be with her. There was nothing but breaking the news. It was all he could do.

‘Mom, there’s been a – disaster on Deneva,’ he began.

‘Oh my God, Sam,’ she said, her voice quick and blank with shock. ‘Jim, what’s happened to Sam?’

‘He and Aurelan are both dead,’ Jim said. ‘Pete’s – he should be fine. He’s not great right now, but – ’

He broke off because his mother wasn’t listening. She had dropped her head to her arms and was crying.

‘Mom, is there anyone you can call to be with you?’ he asked.

Her shoulders were shaking. When she looked up she wouldn’t look directly at the screen.

‘I – I guess I can call Doreen,’ she said, naming a woman from a nearby farm. Jim knew they had been friends for a long time. Doreen had been the first to come round when dad had died.

‘I don’t want you to be alone,’ he said.

‘No, I – I won’t be,’ she replied. She rubbed her hands over her eyes and drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy. I shouldn’t cry in front of you.’

He shook his head wordlessly. He wanted to hug her.

‘Are _you_ all right, Jim?’ she asked, suddenly able to look at him again. ‘Have you got – I mean, I know there’s Spock, but does he – Can be comfort you?’

Jim laughed suddenly. ‘Despite what anyone might say, Vulcans are very good comforters,’ he assured her. ‘But Spock’s – ’

His voice choked, and she looked at him sharply.

‘Oh God, Jim, Spock’s not – ’

‘He’s not dead,’ Jim said quickly. ‘But he’s – oh gosh, it’s too complicated and I’m too tired to explain. He’s blind, mom. He got infected and we tested out a treatment on him, and he’s blind.’

And suddenly he was crying, weeping in a way he had not allowed himself for Sam or Aurelan. He couldn’t stop it. His body was shaking itself apart. Oh god, everything was falling apart. His bondmate, his t’hy’la. How could he bear it if they were to be separated?

‘Jim. Jimmy...’

He became aware of his mother’s voice. He looked up and she was reaching toward the screen.

‘You’ll bring Petey to Earth, won’t you?’ she asked. ‘To me.’

‘Yes,’ he said, although he really had no idea if he would be able to manage that. ‘I’ll bring Petey to Earth.’

‘Then I will give you the biggest hug when you come. I love you, Jim.’

‘I love you too, mom,’ he smiled through a teary face.

‘You let me tell the boys. You haven’t told them yet, have you?’

‘No, I’ve only told you,’ he nodded. ‘But it’s sure to be out on the news channels soon, so – ’

‘I’ll call them right after I get off the line with you,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll let them know Petey will be all right, that I’ll have him.’

‘Thank you, mom,’ he smiled.

‘Now you get some sleep,’ she told him. ‘It must be early there.’

‘I will,’ he promised. ‘I love you, mom.’

‘I love you too, Jimmy.’

He cut the channel and sat in the silence that spread around him, his thoughts whirling. Poor mom. Poor Pete. Poor Spock.

He rubbed his fist over his eyes. They burnt every time he blinked. He needed sleep. There was so much to do in the morning and it was stupid to sit here going over it all now. He went to the cupboard at the side of Spock’s room and took out a beautiful angled bottle of blue liquid. He poured himself a shot into a small glass and downed it, feeling it burn into his throat. The drink wasn’t alcoholic but he could pretend it was. It sure felt like it was.

He put the bottle away and left the glass on the desk. Then he stole back into Spock’s sleeping area. The Vulcan was still lying there peacefully, his breathing slow and steady. Very carefully, wary of disturbing him, he settled himself onto the bed alongside him, staying out of the blanket because it was just so hot in here. He lowered his head onto the pillow, and tried to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The alarm came too soon. He slammed his hand onto it before it could wake Spock, but perhaps he needn’t have worried. The Vulcan was so deep in sleep he did not even stir. He was utterly exhausted, Jim knew.

He slipped out of bed and made sure that Spock was properly covered by his blanket. He looked around the room briefly, wondering if there were anything he could do to make it easier for Spock when he woke, but he didn’t want to move anything or leave anything that Spock would not be able to see. Dammit, he just didn’t know what to do for him, how to take care of a blind person.

He went into the bathroom and got into the shower, more to wake himself up than to get clean, since he had showered last night. The water pushed some of the sluggishness away, and he was glad he had done it.

He turned back to the door to Spock’s quarters for a moment, then set his shoulders and walked on into his own to get his uniform and eat some breakfast. He hoped that Spock would sleep for a long time. Maybe later he could grab a break and come back down to check on him. In the meantime perhaps he could arrange for a nurse or yeoman to check in on him.

He downed a bowl of museli, thinking grimly how McCoy would approve of that healthy breakfast. He would have preferred bacon and eggs but he was almost certain the doctor had some kind of alarm system that alerted him when his captain chose too many unhealthy meals in a row. He rubbed his hands over his face again as he waited for his coffee to brew. Damn it, it would be nice one morning to just forget about healthy eating, to not bother if he spilt egg yolk down the front of his tunic, to go unwashed and unshaven, to goof off and not appear on the bridge until noon, if at all. He felt like he badly needed a rest, and he wasn’t likely to get one any time soon.

He had a little time right now and perhaps his first task of the morning should be to educate himself about Spock’s condition. He turned on his terminal and accessed the Fed-web, and started looking for guides on blindness.

Half an hour later he was on the bridge overseeing relief efforts, taking messages and sending them to and from the captains of various ships that were arriving at the planet, trying to get a moment to ascertain what Sam and Aurelan’s burial preferences were and if they had a will, parrying McCoy’s calls from sick bay about the medical situation down on the planet. They had beamed up some of the weakest patients, mostly children and the elderly, after they had exposed the planet to ultraviolet light and killed the parasites, and sick bay was stretched to its limits while also trying to attend to some of the worst cases down on the planet. Meanwhile, Pete was about to undergo his own treatment, now McCoy judged him strong enough to handle it.

‘Mr Sulu, you have the bridge,’ he said abruptly. He hadn’t intended to be down there, but he knew that he should be. He was all Peter had on the ship and if he were to come round he would want his uncle there.

‘Aye, sir,’ Sulu said, vacating his console and beckoning for a replacement as Kirk left his chair.

‘I’ll – I’m not sure when I’ll be back up,’ Kirk said with uncharacteristic uncertainty. It was getting close to his lunch break and while the ship was busy, it was not a red alert situation and there was no real reason why he could not take the break.

‘We can cover it, sir,’ Sulu said reassuringly, giving him a smile as he took the con.

Kirk patted a hand onto his shoulder. He was grateful to have such a good team up here.

((O))

The sick bay was almost unbearable. There were people everywhere, all the beds were filled. People were sobbing while nurses and orderlies tried to comfort them. As soon as they caught sight of the captain with the strips of braid on his sleeves it seemed that everyone wanted to catch his attention.

‘No, no, not right now,’ he had to say again and again. ‘No, I want to find McCoy.’ He turned to a nurse. ‘Do you know where McCoy is? Has he started on Peter Kirk yet?’

‘He’s just taken him down to the treatment chamber,’ the nurse told him with a smile. ‘You should be in time.’

Jim turned on his heel and pushed out of the room, turning down towards the labs where the temporary treatment chamber had been set up. It was quieter out here at least, but he felt a horrible sense of being haunted as he went into the lab and through into that small room where Spock had been blinded. There was the table he had walked into, there was the chair he had sat in. McCoy and Nurse Chapel were clustered around the chamber door and seemed to be strapping an unconscious Peter Kirk into the chair.

‘Bones,’ Kirk called out.

McCoy looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, Jim, just in time. It’s good you’re here.’

‘You’re sure it’s safe now?’

McCoy laughed briefly. ‘Jim, we’ve treated over a million people simultaneously on the planet last night, and it was like a miracle cure. People are getting back on their feet, starting to pull things back together. I’m not saying it’s not a mess down there, but yes, the treatment’s safe.’ The doctor looked over at the nurse, who was closing the door on the chamber. ‘All set, Christine?’

‘All set,’ she nodded. She looked briefly at Kirk and there was pain in her eyes as she asked quietly, ‘How is Mr Spock, Captain?’

‘He’s – doing all right,’ Kirk said. He wasn’t sure what else to say.

‘Okay, this is lovely, but that boy in there needs his treatment,’ McCoy said brusquely, handing out goggles.

‘I thought the light was safe now, Bones?’ Kirk asked curiously as he took them. A dark feeling rose in him at the thought of the last time he had worn these.

‘It is, but better safe than sorry.’

Kirk met Christine Chapel’s eyes without meaning to, and a spear of sadness seemed to pass between them. He raised the goggles to his eyes, and then McCoy threw the switch to turn on the light.

‘All right, that should be enough,’ he said after about twenty seconds. Together he and Chapel opened the door and took the unconscious form of Peter Kirk out of the chamber. He looked so very small in that chair and in McCoy’s arms.

‘Scans show the creature is completely gone,’ Chapel confirmed, holding out a tricorder. ‘He just needs to recover now.’

‘Hear that, Jim?’ McCoy asked with a bright smile. All the tension in the room was suddenly gone. ‘Let’s get him back to his room.’

Jim hadn’t asked if Petey had a separate room because he was the Captain’s nephew, or just because of the seriousness of his condition. He suspected the latter. Bones wasn’t the type to pander to rank. He watched as Peter was laid on the gurney and followed him back to his room.

‘How soon will he come around, Bones?’ he asked as the doctor settled him in bed.

McCoy looked up at the monitors above the bed, and then double checked with his own scanner.

‘I’d rather keep him out for a while longer yet. He’s still very weak. I want to give him intravenous nutrition for a while to build him up. So – you go and check on Spock, why don’t you? Oh, and tell him I’m going to want to see him later to check on – well, just to check on things.’

Jim smiled with sudden relief at the respite. He didn’t know how to deal with Peter yet, how to talk to him about his parents and tell him he would probably never go home.

‘Okay, Bones,’ he said quietly. ‘Just – tell me as soon as you’re ready to bring him round, won’t you?’

‘I will,’ the doctor promised. ‘Now, go to Spock.’

((O))

He opened the door cautiously, half wondering if Spock were still asleep. He had called down to his cabin once during the morning but got no answer. He had decided against sending a nurse or yeoman down, certain that Spock would see that as an inexcusable intrusion of privacy and knowing that if he needed help, he would surely call for it.

The lights were off as he entered, and he palmed them on.

‘Spock?’ he asked quietly, looking around.

He was there in his sleeping area, wearing a dark blue robe, sitting on the edge of the bed in front of his meditation statue. The grizzled old bear creature sat in stately immobility, the flame in its bowl burning gently.

‘Spock, can I disturb you?’ Jim asked. He generally left Spock alone during meditation.

Spock blinked and turned, and for a moment his eyes were on Jim’s and it was as if he could see. Jim’s heart jumped. Then his head turned a little further, and it was evident that nothing had changed.

‘Jim,’ he said quietly. He cocked his head a little to one side, then said, ‘I am not sure of the time.’

‘Just gone noon,’ Jim told him. ‘Have you eaten anything today?’

Spock shook his head, and Kirk sighed.

‘I have not been hungry,’ Spock said at the small sound. ‘I did not wake up until about an hour ago.’

Jim smiled and came across the room to him. It was odd to hear Spock speaking with such uncertainty about time. Usually he was accurate to within a second, but it seemed that the strain of the past week had thrown him off.

‘Why don’t you come and have something to eat now?’ Jim asked him.

Spock breathed out slowly, and did not answer. Jim sat down companionably close to him on the edge of the bed, bumping his shoulder against Spock’s.

‘Come on, Spock,’ he said. ‘You need to eat. You’ll have Bones on your back if you don’t.’

‘Jim, I have been thinking,’ Spock said seriously.

‘You’re always thinking. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat.’

‘I have been thinking about my future,’ Spock clarified. ‘I wish to resign my commission.’

It felt like a blow. Jim didn’t know what to say. He reached out and placed a hand over Spock’s, and Spock curled his fingers around it.

‘Spock, you don’t need to do that,’ he said.

‘I have no place in Starfleet,’ Spock continued.

‘ _Listen_ , Spock,’ Jim insisted. ‘It’s too soon to know anything about your eyes and what you might be able to do, but one thing’s certain – the Fleet will look after you. They have a duty to look after you. For god’s sake don’t throw that away. Don’t – _please_ don’t – do anything now that you might regret later.’

Spock sighed. Jim leant sideways to rest his head against Spock’s sleek hair.

‘Promise me you won’t do anything like that, Spock,’ he said. ‘It’s not like you to act rashly.’

Spock flinched a little at that, as if the accusation of rashness had hit home. After a moment he nodded. ‘I promise.’

‘Good. Now, will you eat something?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I am not hungry,’ he said.

‘Come on,’ Jim insisted, putting a hand under his elbow and making him stand up. He touched the extinguisher on the meditation flame and a slight scent of smoke rose into the air. ‘Shall I find you some clothes?’

Spock brushed a hand down the front of his robe.

‘Yes, thank you,’ he said.

Jim didn’t ask if he were dressed in the robe out of preference or because of some perceived inability. He just went to the Vulcan’s drawers and pulled out underwear and a uniform, certain that was what he would prefer to wear.

‘Do you need help, Spock?’ he asked as he passed the clothes to him.

‘I don’t believe so,’ Spock replied.

‘Then I’ll fix you something to eat,’ he said.

In a few minutes Spock was seated at his desk with a plate of food in front of him. As he had last night, Jim had picked out some of his favourites to try to tempt him. He could tell that the Vulcan had little interest in what was on the plate, but he was eating to please Jim.

‘Pete’s been treated now,’ Jim said conversationally.

‘That is good,’ Spock nodded. He speared a cube of vegetable on his fork and brought it to his mouth. After a moment he asked, ‘How is the boy?’

‘Bones is keeping him under for a while yet, but he’s doing well. He’s free from that pain at last, thank god.’

‘Good,’ Spock nodded.

After he had eaten a little more he leant back in his chair and sighed.

‘Had enough?’ Jim asked.

Spock was silent for a moment before he replied distractedly, ‘Yes. Yes, I have had enough.’

Jim sat just looking at him for a while. The air felt thick with tension. He felt as if there were a thousand words that needed to be said but neither he nor Spock could manage to say them.

‘I spoke to mom last night,’ he said after a while. ‘Told her about Sam and Aurelan. She wants to take Pete.’

Spock frowned a little, and then abruptly he pushed his plate aside and got to his feet.

‘Jim, do you have more time to spare?’ he asked.

Jim did not even look at the chrono. ‘Of course, Spock,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

Spock shook his head. ‘I confess I find myself – I am rather at a loss, Jim. I have been cloistered in quarters since yesterday.’

‘You want to get out? Go for a walk?’

‘Perhaps,’ he nodded. ‘Although I do confess it feels strange to have to ask for your assistance.’

‘It’s fine, Spock,’ Jim assured him. ‘I’ve been doing a little reading, Spock, just about little things, techniques.’

‘Techniques for the blind?’ Spock asked, turning his head toward Jim with a quizzical look. The eyebrow raising above the empty eye cut him as it always did.

‘Yes, Spock,’ he said rather awkwardly. ‘If you just take my arm – no, like that,’ he said, repositioning the Vulcan’s hand. ‘Just above the elbow. That way you can follow my guidance more easily. Shall we walk down to sick bay? Bones said he wanted to see you.’

‘That would be acceptable,’ Spock said.

If he felt awkward about venturing out into the corridors he did not say so. He curled his hand around Jim’s arm and followed him to the door. Jim pressed his other hand over Spock’s fingers, then walked him out into the corridor.

They walked in silence for a little while, and then Spock said in a low, serious voice, ‘Jim, you must allow me to consider my future.’

‘I do,’ Jim said quickly. ‘I do, I just don’t want you making any sudden decisions. Resigning your commission – that’s unnecessary and it’s sudden. It’s far, far too soon, Spock. There’s no need at all for you to leave the Fleet. Have you – ’ He hesitated, looked over his shoulder to be sure they were alone, then continued, ‘Spock, have you considered how that might affect me? I’m your bond mate for god’s sake.’

‘Very many bonded couples spend a great deal of time apart, Jim,’ Spock pointed out in a voice which although level, sounded rather strained.

‘Maybe they do,’ Jim nodded, feeling his temper rising, growing more out of control as he spoke, ‘but are any of them bonds between a Vulcan and a human, Spock? You may be able to cut me out of your thoughts on a whim, but it’s not something I can do or something I want to do.’

His arm jerked backwards as Spock stopped in his tracks. He could feel through their bond that his words had hurt the Vulcan even behind his shields.

‘Jim,’ Spock said, and there was a desperate tone to his voice.

Spock was still holding onto his arm. Jim took a step backwards so that they were level again. They were still alone in the corridor.

‘Spock, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This has been a strain on me too. I – ’ He looked around and saw that they were close to a briefing room. ‘Come with me, Spock,’ he said, turning toward the room and taking him inside. He engaged the privacy lock. ‘Sit down, Spock,’ he said, then experienced a moment of awkwardness as he tried to work out how to transfer the Vulcan to a chair. ‘Look, the info said like this,’ he continued, putting the hand of his guiding arm on the back of the chair. ‘Slide your hand down my arm to the chair. Okay?’

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock replied quietly, his fingers moving down Jim’s arm with infinite care and then finding the seat..

Jim did not feel in the least like sitting down, but he pulled a chair up and set it opposite Spock’s so they were almost knee to knee.

‘I need you to understand, Spock, that where you go, I go too,’ he said seriously. ‘This has had a huge impact on you, of course it has, but – ’

‘I do not discount the impact on you, Jim,’ Spock said, reaching out his hand. Jim took it. ‘The death of your brother and his wife. When I said I understood, I meant it. I _do_ understand grief, Jim, even if I choose to shield it from public view. I also understand that this – this disability – must necessarily impact on you. But I _cannot_ ask you to give up your career for me.’

‘Spock, I don’t think you _do_ understand,’ Kirk pressed, feeling very close to an emotional breakdown. He took Spock’s other hand too, held them both tight. His hands felt so warm, so strong in his. He had loved Spock’s hands for a long time. His hands, his wrists, the delicate points of his ears, the sharpness of his cheekbones. ‘I can’t be without you, Spock. I can’t be millions of miles away from you and leave you alone in this, as much as for myself as for you. Either we both stay on this ship, or neither of us do. Can you understand that?’

Spock sighed. He suddenly looked very tired, almost as if he himself were about to cry.

‘Jim, I cannot stand for this to destroy _your_ life too,’ he said, and that hit Jim like a blow. This was the first time that Spock had, albeit obliquely, admitted the magnitude of the impact of his blindness on him.

‘You know, we can’t both break down,’ Jim said, his voice suddenly choked. He was laughing a little but only to stop himself from crying. ‘Spock, we have to work out what to do. We have to spend time and thought on this. I don’t want to lose my command. I don’t think you want to lose your place in the Fleet either. There _must_ be a way...’

Spock took in a deep breath, and by the way it shuddered a little Jim knew that he too was close to the edge emotionally. He had been under such strain for so long.

‘The first thing we _must_ do is go to see the good doctor,’ Spock said. ‘And you must fulfil the _Enterprise_ ’s role in this crisis. Whatever may happen, you are the captain at this moment, and you have your duty.’

‘Yes,’ Jim said, trying not to bend under the dull weight of that word. ‘Yes, I have my duty. I guess I’d better get you down to sickbay, then carry on with that duty, eh?’

Spock nodded solemnly, but he pressed his fingers over Jim’s and a warm sensation of love spread into his mind. The one thought that revolved in his head as he stood and let Spock take his arm was that they were not going to be torn apart by this. Whatever happened, he was not going to leave Spock’s side.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Spock sat in Dr McCoy’s office with his fingers curled around a cool tumbler of liquor. McCoy had given it to him after the examination, and he had not had the energy to refuse. Perhaps sometimes, after all, there was a place for alcohol.

‘I’m so sorry, Spock,’ the doctor was saying.

‘Yes, I know, Doctor. You have already told me that,’ he nodded. ‘In fact, I think you have expressed variations on the same theme sixteen times since your examination.’

McCoy was silent for a beat, but Spock could feel the thickness of his regret and sorrow. McCoy hated to not be able to comfort or offer a cure, and in Spock’s case he was able to do neither.

‘Would you like me to call Jim down?’

Spock took a sip of his drink. If he had known exactly where the desk was he would have set the glass down, but he did not want to be seen groping around for it. He wished he could ask for Jim to come to him, but he knew that Jim was desperately busy, and he needed to be able to manage alone. It was likely he would need to manage alone a lot in the foreseeable future.

‘No, Doctor, I do not want you to call Jim,’ he said.

The doctor had examined his eyes and confirmed what he already suspected. There was no change in the damage. No healing had occurred. No detection of light at all was passing to his brain through his optic nerves. There was nothing the doctor could do. He had suspected as much before submitting to the examination, but the confirmation of the fact was no less devastating for that.

‘I could do with checking the wound on your back,’ McCoy said rather hesitantly. ‘I forgot about that while I was looking at your eyes.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said. Normally he would have protested that there was no need, but he found he did not feel like fighting the doctor. ‘Must I disrobe?’

‘It’s okay, just lean forward a little and I can lift your tops up, if that’s all right,’ McCoy assured him, so Spock acquiesced as the doctor probed the narrow wound near the top of his back where the creature had punctured the skin and the doctor had subsequently operated.

‘Bit tender?’ the doctor asked as Spock flinched. ‘It’s doing well, though. The healing’s almost complete.’

‘Are you finished, Doctor?’ Spock asked as the doctor stepped away.

‘Yes, I’m finished,’ McCoy said.

Spock realised that the doctor sounded tired too. He had been so absorbed in his own situation that he had not picked up on those small cues.

‘You are in need of rest, Doctor,’ he said in a level voice.

‘Me?’ McCoy asked, in a tone of feigned surprise. ‘No, no, I’m all right, Spock. Really.’

Spock cocked his ear toward the door. He could hear the noise of the full ward outside.

‘You have an unusually large burden of patients at the current time,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s true, Spock, but M’Benga’s on duty out there at the moment. I’m due off shift now. I wouldn’t be drinking this if I weren’t.’

‘No, of course,’ Spock murmured. He had lost track of the time again. He felt so very out of touch. ‘Perhaps I should not be drinking either in my current condition.’

McCoy laughed. ‘Spock, giving you alcohol is like giving a teaspoon of rum to a rhino. I don’t think you need to worry.’

Spock did not reply. He sat holding his drink, rubbing his fingertip over the smooth glass. He could feel where the liquid was by the change in temperature. He could also feel its effect in his body. McCoy was not entirely correct. It was not so much that alcohol did not affect him, but that he was able to control his responses.

‘Come on, Spock, give,’ McCoy said suddenly.

‘I beg your pardon, Doctor?’

‘If you were human I’d have you in counselling by now. You’ve experienced a sudden and traumatic disability. Talk to me.’

Spock frowned a little.

‘That is not the Vulcan way, Doctor.’

‘Well, I’m human, and you’re half. Humour me.’

Spock pressed his hands a little harder around the glass, and then stopped, wary of breaking the fragile container. ‘There is nothing I wish to talk about at the present time,’ he said.

‘What are you going to do?’ the doctor pressed him. ‘Do you have any ideas about how to move on? Do you want me to find some literature – ’

‘I cannot read,’ Spock replied in a very level voice, but the frustration at the fact gnawed inside him.

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I can set the computer to text-to-voice for you, Spock. There are ways – ’

‘And I suspect I shall be forced to learn a very many of them, very quickly,’ Spock interrupted. There it was now, impatience forcing its way into his voice. The alcohol was having an effect – or at least _something_ was eroding his ability to control.

‘Well, a willingness to adapt is a positive step, at least,’ McCoy murmured.

‘Is there any other option?’ Spock asked.

‘Some people wouldn’t blame you for holing up in your quarters and letting the world go by.’

‘That is not in my nature,’ Spock said, although there was a certain portion of him that wished to do just that. A certain portion of him wanted to just be left alone, wanted the doctor to stop talking, needling him with words, wanted to walk out of here and find peace and solitude. There, of course, was the irony. No matter how much he wanted peace and solitude he would have to ask for help to reach a place where he could gain it.

‘I had considered resigning my commission,’ he said, and held up his hand as McCoy began the splutters of a protest. ‘Do not concern yourself, Doctor. I am not going to do that. Jim – persuaded me that it would be an error.’

‘You’re damn right it’d be an error,’ the doctor muttered. ‘For god’s sake, Spock, when you went into that chamber I told Jim you were the best first officer in the fleet. I meant that. You’re the best goddamn officer this ship has ever had.’

‘Why, thank you, Doctor,’ Spock said, raising an eyebrow, feeling a small flush of something in his chest that might have been pleasant surprise. Perhaps the alcohol really was working on him. ‘I had no idea you felt that way.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have said it to your face,’ McCoy murmured. Spock could hear him taking another sip of his drink. ‘Hold still, Spock, let me give you a refill,’ he interrupted himself. Spock held the glass still without protest, and the bottle clinked against it as liquid poured. ‘There. Not too full. But I meant it, Spock. I really did. Blind or not, you’ve got a hell of a lot to give.’

‘But how am I to give it, in my current condition?’ Spock asked pensively.

‘Techniques, adaptations, training,’ McCoy said.

Spock imagined he was waving a hand in the air. It was so very odd sitting here in the dark while McCoy was obviously functioning in full light. He was trying to glean as much as he could from the small sounds that his Vulcan ears picked up. That soft noise was probably the fabric of the doctor’s top and the sound of his hand moving in the air.

‘And how am I to access such training?’

The doctor sighed. ‘There are a few places on Earth, one on Vulcan, various rehabilitation facilities scattered around other planets in the quadrant.’

‘All would mean leaving the ship. I would say that leaving the ship is a given, at least temporarily, probably permanently. I do not know that there has ever been a blind officer on a ship of the line.’

There was a long silence, then the doctor said, ‘Yes, Spock, I think you’re right. Much as I hate to say it, you _will_ have to leave the ship for a while.’

‘And – Jim,’ Spock said.

He spoke about his relationship with Jim to very few people. They did not show signs of it in public, especially on the ship. But their relationship status was, he knew, a subject of continuing gossip and most people were aware of it. McCoy was one of the privileged few who knew about it because Spock and Kirk had confided in him.

‘It’ll kill him,’ McCoy said unthinkingly.

‘Factually incorrect,’ Spock said, although the doctor’s words struck home harder than he would have liked. ‘But it is likely to have a significant emotional impact.’

‘Significant emotional impact be damned. It’ll crush him, Spock. He’s reeling. He’s absolutely reeling from what’s happened. What with losing Edith Keeler the way he did, for a start – ’

Spock flinched involuntarily at the mention of Edith’s name. He knew how very hard that had been on Jim. It had been those weeks in close quarters with Jim that had lead him to realise exactly how he felt about his captain, and the aftermath of Edith’s death which had brought them together.

‘ – and now his brother and his sister-in-law dead, his nephew orphaned, and your blindness on top of that,’ the doctor continued, apparently unconscious of Spock’s moment of discomfort.

‘I regret being the cause of such pain,’ Spock said rather tightly.

‘Hell, you know I don’t mean it like that, Spock – but you know, you _must_ know, that it’s cutting him up.’

‘Yes, I do know that, Doctor,’ Spock admitted softly. ‘I know that he will not admit that grief to me in its entirety. I know he is trying to hold it in for my sake. Perhaps you could induce him to confide in you?’

‘Maybe,’ McCoy say with a degree of moroseness in his voice. ‘Maybe I can. But, you know, I think it would be best between you two, for you to work out your problems together.’

‘He is afraid of burdening me.’

‘And you’re afraid of burdening him. You’re two for two. You know a problem shared is a problem halved.’

‘Trite human phrases are not always accurate.’

‘Well, maybe I don’t have anything else to give,’ McCoy sighed. ‘You know, I’m all done with you here, professionally, at least. Do you want me to walk with you back to your quarters, or do you want to grab a bite of lunch?’

Spock felt a profound sense of gratitude that the doctor had not said, _take you back_. He was, in fact, hungry now, but he was not entirely certain that he wanted to eat in a rec room in front of the crew. McCoy seemed to sense his uncertainty.

‘Or I could go rout something out and bring it up here,’ he continued. ‘How about that, Spock?’

‘That would be acceptable,’ Spock nodded.

‘Well, that’s a date,’ the doctor said, getting up and coming around his desk. He slapped Spock on the shoulder affectionately. ‘I’ll be back in a little while.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Spock nodded.

Once he was alone in the office he permitted himself the freedom to explore. He reached out with his left hand and felt about in the direction of where he believed the desk to be. After a moment, he found it. He moved his hand over the surface to check that it was clear, and then put down his half-finished drink. Then he stood up.

For a moment he felt paralysed. He had sat in sickbay and sat in Jim’s room. In his own quarters and bathroom he had made some explorations, reasonably confident in his knowledge of the space around him. But elsewhere there had always been a hand at his elbow or Jim watching over him, and here there was no one.

He closed his eyes, trying to see if he could somehow sense the space around him. He was reasonably sure that echoes could be utilised in some way, with his sensitive hearing. But perhaps it was too soon, perhaps he was not yet used enough to this. There was too much noise filtering through from the ward outside for him to focus on the small sounds in here.

He gave up on trying to listen to echoes and moved round the desk carefully, hand by hand around the edge as if he were a boat circumnavigating an island. Was this what McCoy’s office had become to him? A strange and unknown sea? He remembered the shelves with various medical curiosities on them, the desk, the chairs, the various panels on the wall. But everything felt so different in the dark.

He stumbled into something and reached out to find McCoy’s chair, still warm from his sitting in it. He took the doctor’s place and reached out to the computer, finding its solid contours beneath his fingertips. He felt to the side and switched it on. Talking to the doctor had given him the determination to do something about his situation.

‘Computer,’ he said.

The monotone voice was no different to normal, even though everything felt so different now. ‘Working.’

‘How many visually impaired persons currently employed by Starfleet?’

‘Nine thousand, three hundred, seventy two,’ the computer said without hesitation.

‘How many of those employed in active duty on Constitution class starships?’

‘Two hundred five.’

‘Are there any first officers who are visually impaired?’

‘Negative.’

Spock nodded slowly, considering those statistics. He had already been almost certain that there were no visually impaired first officers on Constitution class ships. He tended to keep a current knowledge of his counterparts on other ships.

‘How many employed in science divisions of those ships?’ he asked.

‘One hundred thirty two.’

Spock raised an eyebrow at that information. ‘A high proportion. Who is the highest ranked visually impaired officer currently working on a starship?’

‘Lieutenant Commander Ellen Sandshaw, Chief Science Officer, USS _Aberdeen_.’

‘What is the medical cause and extent of her visual impairment?’

‘That information is restricted to authorised medical personnel,’ the computer said flatly.

Spock sighed softly. It was to be expected that he couldn’t simply access any crew member’s medical records, especially from another ship. ‘Computer, place a call to Lieutenant Commander Ellen Sandshaw, Chief Science Officer, USS _Aberdeen_ , from this transmitter,’ he said.

‘Working. Connection acquired.’

There was a beat of silence, then a short moment of static, and a woman’s voice said, ‘Commander Spock. This is an honour. How can I help?’

‘I am seeking advice on the feasibility of a blind person working as part of the science team on a starship,’ Spock said bluntly. ‘I believe you are blind, Ms Sandshaw.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said smoothly. ‘But perhaps you’ve come to the wrong place, Commander. I’m hardly going to recommend against employing someone who’s visually impaired.’

‘I did not seek your recommendation,’ Spock said, shaking his head. ‘I seek your insight. May I ask how much sight you have?’

‘None that’s very useful, sir. Just a small amount of light and colour perception at the edges of the field. I contracted Reeve’s Disease about – oh – fifteen years ago.’

‘I see,’ Spock nodded. ‘And you were already working as a science officer?’

‘Not as the chief, sir. I was a lab technician. I kinda worked my way up.’

‘Most admirable,’ Spock told her. ‘May I ask, Ms Sandshaw, how you manage to carry out your duties without sight? Do you have any special assistance? Any devices?’

‘Well, I do have quite a few devices – mostly things the ship’s engineer’s cooked up for me. Everything on the ship’s labelled up with Braille, my tricorder has an audio function. And I have an on-call assistant – a science technician who also helps me with any problems I have, accompanies me on away missions. Oh, and I have Moses.’

‘Another assistant?’

‘Of the furry kind, Mr Spock. Moses is my guide dog.’

‘I did not realise a guide dog would be allowed on an active starship,’ Spock mused.

‘Well, he was on trial at first – hell, we both were, when I came back from my rehabilitation, but my efficiency rose drastically as soon as I got him, as did my safety on away missions, so they couldn’t really argue. Guide dogs are exceptionally well trained dogs, Commander.’

‘Ms Sandshaw, if I asked for a recommendation from you to allow a blind person to serve as science officer of the _Enterprise_ , would you give it?’ Spock asked abruptly.

There was a short pause, then the woman said in confusion, ‘Sir, I thought _you_ were science officer on the _Enterprise_?’

‘That is correct,’ Spock nodded.

‘Then, I don’t understand...’

‘I am blind,’ Spock explained. It felt very strange to say those words. ‘I lost my sight a day ago, as the result of treatment for another – ailment. All indications are that the condition is permanent.’

There was that pause again, then she said, ‘I’m sorry, Commander. I – know what it’s like to deal with that. I can only imagine what it must be like for it to happen suddenly. It _was_ sudden?’

‘Very,’ Spock nodded. He felt more and more reluctant to discuss the emotional impact with a stranger. ‘The recommendation, Ms Sandshaw?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d recommend for a human. I’d recommend even more highly for a Vulcan, and particularly for you. You are – very admired in most science divisions, Commander.’

‘Thank you,’ Spock nodded, her compliment washing past him. What mattered was that Starfleet had taken the precedent of employing a blind science officer, and that she was willing to endorse his own position. ‘That is all I needed to know. Spock out.’

He barely waited for her reply before cutting the channel. As he did he heard the door swish open and caught the scent of food as McCoy bustled back into the room.

‘I’m out of the room for five minutes and you take over my desk!’ the doctor grumbled good-naturedly as he came in.

‘You were gone for approximately fifteen minutes, and I made use of your terminal in your absence,’ Spock corrected him. ‘You were asking me what I was going to do about my situation. I made preliminary enquiries into the feasibility of my remaining on the ship.’

‘And?’ the doctor asked eagerly, putting a tray down on the desk with a clink of crockery.

‘And there is quite a number of visually impaired officers in Starfleet. One of them is science officer of a Constitution class vessel.’

‘Well, that’s great, Spock!’ the doctor exclaimed. ‘There’s a precedent. That’s important.’

‘I am inclined to agree,’ Spock nodded. ‘However, indications are I would still have to leave the ship for rehabilitation training.’

‘Temporarily for training is a hell of a lot better than permanently,’ McCoy pointed out.

‘Indeed,’ Spock said. This sudden change in his life was traumatic enough as it was, without completely relinquishing his home and his future.

‘I’ll tell you what, Spock – I’ll start looking into rehabilitation opportunities while we eat. Do you have a preference between Vulcan and Earth, or a burning desire to go elsewhere?’

‘I would prefer Earth,’ Spock said.

He felt McCoy’s ripple of surprise. He did not wish to explain exactly why he preferred to go to Earth. He could not quite pin down the reason himself. Perhaps a slight sense of nostalgia since he had trained there for Starfleet, a fondness for his mother’s home planet, a disinclination to plunge himself back into the rigidity of Vulcan education. If pressed he would say that it would be better to learn Earth standard techniques, since Starfleet was predominantly a human organisation, but somewhere deep down there was a hope that at least on Earth it would be easier for Jim to be with him, at least for a short time or for visits. He did not want to be alone.

  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

Jim slumped down into his desk chair in utter exhaustion. He felt as if he had not stopped moving all day. When he had not been on duty on the bridge he had either been visiting other departments on the ship or he had been with Spock, and being with Spock right now made him feel as if something were tearing inside him. He wanted so badly to  _be_ with him, to lie with him, be intimate with him, share with him, but he was afraid of the pain that he knew was lying at such a shallow depth beneath the Vulcan’s defences. No matter how brave a face Spock tried to put on it Jim knew that he was scared, frustrated, despairing, and sometimes furious  at this sudden and catastrophic change in his life .

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, wishing he had a more comfortable chair in the room. Spock had those warm, carved wooden chairs, but what he wanted right now was an armchair. He didn’t want to flake out on the bed. He just wanted to sit in something enveloping and softly upholstered, and imagine someone perhaps bringing him coffee or alcohol, perhaps rubbing his shoulders. He wanted to fall asleep.

He felt as if he had unexpectedly lurched off the edge of a platform. His stomach dropped and grief welled in. Sam had looked as if he were sleeping when he had first seen him on the floor of his lab on Deneva. These things had been haunting him all day, these odd and random associations. Looking at food had made him wonder what Sam’s last meal had been. Pulling on his boots had made him think of the worn look of the soles of his brother’s shoes. Every time a thought like that came to him it was like falling from a cliff, that momentary panic, the jolt and then the sadness crowding in. Why had he left it so long since last calling his brother? It had been almost a year. How did time go by so fast? Had there really never been enough time just to open a comm line and talk?

He wondered when Spock had last talked to his parents, and felt the bottom drop from his stomach again. Oh, Spock... He couldn’t bear to think of his eyes, to think of all that he had lost. He had felt so certain of the future since discovering the joy of a relationship with Spock. They served together, and would continue to serve together, two men at the top of the chain of command on this beautiful ship. There was nothing to dent the perfection. But now everything had been thrown into turmoil. He could not bear to think of Spock going away, but he couldn’t see how he could stay.

Guilt rose in him in waves. He should go through to Spock’s cabin now. He was sure he was in there. He should be there with him, asking him about his day, seeing if he needed anything. But he was tired. He was so goddamn tired. He wanted to throw off responsibility just for a few minutes, an hour.

He laid his arms on the desk and rested his head down onto them. He was so very tired. He just wanted a few minutes, and then he would go to find Spock...

His eyes drifted closed. It was warm and he was so tired...

...and then he became aware of fingers touching him, stroking him with infinite gentleness, moving lightly over his hair, about the contours of his ear, touching his forehead, and then moving down to his shoulders. He could feel Spock’s presence like a warm blanket. He didn’t open his eyes, but murmured, ‘God, that’s good,’ as Spock’s fingers kneaded into the tight muscles of his shoulders.

‘I needn’t ask if it has been a long day,’ Spock said.

His voice was warm, almost a purr. Jim opened his eyes and lifted his head up and Spock’s arms slipped about his neck. Suddenly he recalled the exact situation, and jumped properly into wakefulness as he remember ed this was not just any day after a hard shift, that Spock’s fingers had moved so carefully over him because he could not see, that he must have come through here feeling  his way because he could not see and Jim had not come to him.

‘Oh, god, Spock, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ he began.

‘It does not matter,’ Spock said, his arms still and heavy, folded across Jim’s chest from behind.

‘It does. It does matter, Spock. You went for your examination. I haven’t even asked you how it went.’

Spock sighed. After a moment of silence he said, ‘Dr McCoy did not have good news.’

‘Oh,’ Jim said, although he had expected that even as he had hoped fervently for the opposite. ‘There’s nothing – ’

‘As splendid as are the benefits of modern medicine, we still cannot perform transplants with parts of the brain, and the optic nerves are part of the brain,’ Spock said. ‘They are too damaged for artificial regeneration. There is a latent hope of healing, but there are no signs of the nerves healing. Vulcans are possessed of an inner eyelid which tends to protect against extreme brightness, but in this case the intensity of the light was apparently too great even for that.’

His arms tightened a little around Jim’s chest. Jim lifted his hands to press them over Spock’s, and then stood to take him in his arms.

‘I’m sorry, Spock,’ he said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

‘What is, is,’ Spock murmured, but Jim could sense no such quiet acceptance in the emotions he was picking up through the touch.

‘I can still be sorry,’ he said, pressing his hands against the Vulcan’s back. ‘I hate this, Spock,’ he continued, anger coming into his voice. ‘I _hate_ being helpless, being able to do _nothing_ to help you.’

‘Jim,’ Spock said softly. He carefully moved the human back from him, his hands on his shoulders. ‘Jim, you must let go of your anger. It cannot profit you.’

‘No,’ Jim murmured quietly. ‘No, I know it can’t.’

‘Jim, I have made a number of decisions today,’ Spock told him. ‘May we sit and talk?’

‘Okay,’ Jim said rather nervously. There was something in Spock’s tone of voice that concerned him. ‘Take my seat, Spock. I’ll get the other.’

‘I can sit in my usual place,’ Spock said stubbornly, moving about the desk to find the second chair. He had the benefit of being far more familiar with Jim’s quarters than with some other areas of the ship.

‘Okay,’ Jim said, although he watched the Vulcan attentively until he had found the chair and sat down. Jim seated himself, then asked, ‘Okay, Spock. Give.’

‘I have made two decisions that I think are of great importance, Jim,’ Spock told him, resting his hands on the desk. His fingers fell on a stylus, and he picked it up and began to turn it in his hand. ‘My first decision is to do all I can to retain my position in Starfleet, and stay on the ship. I have found evidence today of a number of blind personnel in Starfleet, mostly in the sciences, and spoken to the chief science officer of the USS _Aberdeen_ , who is blind herself.’

‘She is?’ Kirk asked. He had never expected to feel that kind of leap of hope on hearing of someone else’s disability.

‘Affirmative,’ Spock nodded. ‘Her position sets a precedent which I believe will support my application to remain on board.’

‘Yes. Yes, it should,’ Jim mused. ‘So – what’s the other decision?’ he asked rather tentatively.

‘Jim, I must attend some kind of rehabilitation training,’ Spock said in a rather less certain voice. ‘It is absolutely imperative if I am to be able to function on board ship.’

‘Well, if they can run any kind distance course – ’ Jim began.

‘No,’ Spock said firmly. ‘No, Jim. I understand your concerns, your reluctance for us to be parted. I do not look forward to it myself – but I must attend a physical training course. I cannot possibly train remotely. The doctor has looked into it and there are a number of places on Earth which offer such training. The most promising is located in San Francisco, and has a loose affiliation with Starfleet Academy.’

‘Going back to the Academy,’ Jim said rather wistfully.

‘It will not be quite like my student days,’ Spock said, with a hint of humour in his voice that Jim found hopelessly endearing.

‘No, of course it won’t, Spock,’ he said. ‘But I miss that place.’

Spock lifted an eyebrow. ‘I am sure you do,’ he said. ‘You have told me so many stories of your escapades that I am amazed you ever graduated. However, I have also heard you referred to as a stack of books with legs. I have never been sure whom to believe.’

Jim laughed. ‘Well, maybe a bit of both,’ he said. ‘I got up to plenty, believe me, but I never neglected my studies.’

‘I sometimes wish I had known you then,’ Spock said, and Jim looked up in surprise at the rare admission of regret.

‘Well, you know me now, Spock,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d known you as a lithe eighteen year old, but we can’t have everything.’

Spock’s eyebrow raised even further. ‘I am not sure I have ever been described in that way,’ he said.

Jim laughed. ‘I bet you were, though. Probably serious as hell, and if I was a walking stack of books you were probably a walking library – but still, I would have like to have seen you.’

‘I’ll have my mother send you a holo,’ Spock said rather irreverently, and then became sober as a shadow passed over his face.

‘You haven’t told them yet, have you?’ Jim asked. Spock had barely ever spoken to Jim about his parents. He didn’t know their names, knew nothing beyond the fact that the Vulcan father was an ambassador and the human mother a teacher. He could barely imagine what Spock’s mother might look like.

‘No,’ Spock said. ‘I have not told them.’

Jim knew better than to push him on the subject. He didn’t know what had gone on between Spock and his parents but it was obvious there was something there making a wall between them.

‘Spock, what about this rehabilitation?’ he asked seriously. ‘Have you found out anything about it? I mean, beyond that it’s in San Francisco and allied to the Academy.’

‘Very little,’ Spock admitted. ‘The good doctor intends to contact the institution and also to apply for funding from Starfleet.’

‘Well, that should be no problem,’ Jim said quickly. ‘They have a duty to you.’

‘Yes,’ Spock said. ‘I expect the doctor to let me know tomorrow what he has found out.’

‘Okay,’ Jim said.

He sat there just looking at the Vulcan for a few moments.  He felt as if he were being torn two ways. His ship was everything to him, but so was Spock, and h e did not want Spock to leave. He did not want their bond to be stretched so thin, and he hated to think of Spock alone and blind on Earth. But he knew that he must let him train if he were ever to return to the ship.

‘I’ve been doing a little paperwork of my own, Spock,’ he admitted. ‘Sorting out what’s happening once we’re done with Deneva. Mom wants Sam and Aurelan brought home to be buried. I don’t know if the ship will be passing near Earth. We can’t divert for something like this. But I should be able to take some compassionate leave and if so I can make the journey to Earth with you.’

Spock relaxed visibly at that.

‘That would be a relief,’ he admitted. ‘I had imagined travelling with a nurse or a paid companion to help me.’

Jim reached out to cover Spock’s hand with his. He could only imagine how distasteful Spock would find it to be forced to rely on someone like that, someone who was not a close friend.

‘I’m not going to leave you alone in this, Spock,’ he said firmly. ‘I promise. I will be at your side.’

‘Jim, you _cannot_ always be at my side,’ Spock said mildly.

Something seemed to ignite in Jim at that. There was his ship, practically the single-most important thing in his world. The ship was almost an extension of himself. He could feel its heartbeat through the plates as he walked on the deck. He knew every part of it, right down to how it smelt. But then there was Spock. Spock had been in his life from the moment he had walked onto the  _Enterprise_ to take command. The two of them were almost inseparable in his memory. There had been no first moment with either of them apart. They had come together, the ship and Spock, two forces that would take and steer his life onto greater things.

But Spock was alive, Spock had a living, breathing soul, and no matter how much  Jim anthropomorphised the ship around him he could not truly pretend that it was alive. It would never miss him if he were gone. It did not care who sat in the command chair. He needed to be with Spock through this. The ship would still be there, even if he were gone. He did not voice any of these thoughts to Spock because he knew that he would try to convince him otherwise, but he became determined to stay at the Vulcan’s side for as long as if took to get him back where he belonged.

He would get on the comm as soon as he had a moment without Spock and talk to the relevant authorities, try to get some kind of temporary reassignment to Earth. Scotty would make an admirable acting captain.  There would be a way, there  _must_ be a way, for him to be able to be with Spock through this.


	6. Chapter 6

Spock would not want to admit it to anyone, but this journey was highly disconcerting in his current condition. Once Jim had started things in motion they had moved with astonishing speed, and it was no more than two days after their discussion of his plans in Jim’s cabin that the ship left Deneva for a brief visit to Starbase 53, where he and Jim were be dropped off in order to take a civilian ferry to Earth. He had learnt a few techniques for mobility and self-care in those last few days, but not nearly enough to feel in any way competent to take care of himself.

The bustle around him on the Starbase as they queued to board the ferry was distracting to more than one sense. There was a constant murmur of speech, and somewhere in the background music was being piped over loudspeakers. There was evidently some kind of eatery nearby, where plates clashed and conversation rose and fell. Scents billowed around him of coffee, fried food, human perfumes and sweat. He had grown to notice the scent of fabrics, the differing smell of recycled air depending on the processor, the slight release of scent whenever a rubber-soled shoe rubbed against the deck. He was keeping his mental shields tightly up due to the crowds and the chance of being jostled by a shieldless human, and so his mind felt blind as well as his eyes.

‘Are you all right, Spock?’ Jim asked him solicitously.

‘I am quite fine,’ he said. It was not true that Vulcans could not lie.

‘It’s a bit of a bottleneck to get on board,’ Jim said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It cannot be helped,’ Spock replied.

It was true. It could not be helped. He and the captain were very used to the convenience of travelling by starship, but this was evidently how most civilians travelled, and he would have to put up with it.

‘At least the baggage is already on board,’ Jim murmured.

Spock gave a wordless noise of response. He was aware that along with the baggage were the two coffins containing Jim’s brother and sister-in-law. It was hard to forget that considering that their travelling companion was young Peter Kirk.

‘Jim, where is Peter?’ he asked curiously, turning his head and trying to hear any sign of him.

‘Dammit,’ Jim cursed softly, looking around. ‘He was right here. Look, Spock, I’d better go look for him. I’ll be back in just a moment. You’ll be all right?’

Spock pressed his lips together, and nodded. He could not say that he found being pressed in this queue in any way enjoyable, but at least there was a certain relentless direction to it. He could hardly become lost. But he felt utterly helpless. He held his hands still at his sides rather than holding them up as he wanted to and clamped down on his emotional reaction to the situation, trying to rationalise it away.

‘Hey, come on, fella,’ someone said behind him, and he realised from the absence of that strange sensation of physical closeness in front of him that the queue had moved on.

He took a step forward, and another, holding out his hand a little before him. After a moment his fingertips pushed into soft fabric over fatty flesh, and he stopped abruptly.

‘I apologise,’ he began.

The person in front of him moved, perhaps turning to look around, and said quickly, ‘No worries, no worries at all, sir.’

Spock nodded silently, and then withdrew into himself. He hoped that Jim would be back soon, but he was almost at the check in desk before he heard his captain returning.

‘Spock, I’m so sorry,’ he panted, pushing back into the queue with muttered apologies to those around them. A curiously sweet smell rose around them as he did. ‘The little wretch was in the arcade. He just won a sackful of candy. Peter, I’m going to have a stern talk with you when we’re on board. You know I can’t just walk off and leave Spock like that.’

Spock resisted reaction. He felt so confined, so unutterably helpless, but he stayed largely silent as Jim dealt with the check in and led him on board the great warp shuttle.

‘Let’s just get to our cabin, Spock,’ Jim muttered, leading him quickly on through the ship. ‘Now – twenty-two A, twenty-two A...’

‘It should be on the port side, level two,’ Spock said, and felt Jim’s astonishment. ‘I am familiar with the schematics for the _Alison Swan_ class of civilian transport, Captain. If we have entered through the aft starboard hatch then we will need to go straight ahead until we see an elevator on the left. That will take us to level two, and from there – ’

‘Let’s take it in stages, eh, Spock?’ Jim muttered, still sounding rather awed. ‘Petey. Peter, can you _please_ manage to stay with us? He’s never been off world before,’ he commented in a tone meant only for Spock’s ears.

‘It is bound to be a fascinating experience for him,’ Spock replied, but considering the candy that Jim had mentioned and that he could still smell, he was rather afraid that soon Peter would be, to use one of Jim’s colloquialisms, bouncing off the walls.

  
  


((O))

  
  


He tried to meditate lying on the wide double bed later, but he had been correct in his prediction as to Peter’s probable reaction to the candy. All he could hear from the small living area outside the bedroom was Peter repeatedly banging something, the occasional sharp word of remonstrance from Jim, the banging subsiding and then setting up again, and Jim shouting again. It was impossible to meditate with such distractions going on.

Spock sat up and swivelled to put his feet on the ground. He could not with a clear conscience leave Jim to deal alone with this obviously disturbed child. Perhaps the calm rationality of logic would help to soothe him.

He got to his feet and stood still for a moment to orient himself. He had made no exploration of the room yet, but had simply walked from the door to the bed with Jim’s guidance. He should at least be able to walk back again.

He was a few centimetres off, his hand striking the wall instead of the door, but the door hissed open anyway in response to his nearness, and helped to orient him. He stepped into the small outer room, and immediately stumbled over something on the floor. He fell hard to his knees. Jim exploded.

‘For God’s sake, Pete, I told you not to leave that case there!’

Peter immediately blew up in response. ‘I don’t care! I don’t want to be here anyway. I don’t want to be travelling with _him_ and I don’t want to be with you!’

There was a small flurry which Spock assumed was Peter storming out of the room. One advantage to modern technology – or disadvantage, to the angry – was that doors could not be slammed. Something was certainly banged though as Peter went into the sleeping quarters. Since the suite had only one bedroom, and a bed settee in the living room, the only place Peter could retreat to was Jim and Spock’s room.

‘I’m going to wring his neck,’ Jim muttered as he helped Spock to his feet.

‘You are not,’ Spock said reasonably. ‘The child is grieving for his parents and his home. Gentleness and understanding will serve you better.’

‘You’re unbelievable, Spock,’ Jim muttered, then added, ‘No, I mean it as a compliment. You’re the one who's just gone flying, and you’re advocating understanding.’

‘It is a logical means to an end,’ Spock said. He did not add that in his Vulcan-human upbringing it was the human parent who taught him about tolerance, and the Vulcan about rigidity. ‘Perhaps I should speak to the boy.’

Jim laughed mirthlessly. ‘Spock, I’m his uncle. If I can't get through to him...’

‘When did you last see him, Jim?’

‘See him? God...’ He trailed off, lost for a moment in thought. ‘I spoke to him briefly last time I called Sam, and that was – that was over a year ago, Spock,’ he said guiltily. ‘But the last time I saw him – I mean, actually physically spent time with him – I think he was four years old. Captaining a ship of the line doesn’t give you much time for family visits.’

‘I quite understand,’ Spock said. ‘It could be that he harbours a certain resentment over your absence, especially since if the _Enterprise_ had arrived sooner his parents might have been saved. But in all essence, I may be hardly less familiar to him than you.’

Jim sighed, and Spock wished for the briefest moment that he could see his face. He knew his mention of the ship’s late visit to the planet must have upset him, but after all, the truth was always preferable to lies.

‘Maybe you’re right, Spock. Or maybe what he needs right now is a stranger anyway. I don’t know. But I’m willing for you to try.’

‘Then if I have your consent – ’

‘You mean right now, Spock?’

‘The human phrase is to strike while the iron is hot, is it not?’

Jim laughed quietly. ‘That’s the phrase. Just – don’t strike too hard, will you, Spock?’

‘I will not,’ Spock promised.

  
  


((O))

  
  


For a moment Spock was not sure where the young boy was in the cabin, but he had thought it best that Jim did not come in with him. He stood by the door, listening. After a little time he heard the boy’s breathing. He was trying to stifle the noise, obviously trying to hide from the blind Vulcan, but the sound was audible to Spock anyway, and every now and then a slight hitch from recent tears made the noise even more obvious. In order to help orient himself Spock cautiously lowered his mental shields, and almost recoiled from the raw barrage of emotion that hit him.

‘Peter, it is quite useless to pretend you are not here,’ he said after a moment in a very patient voice. ‘There is nowhere else for you to be. Besides, I can hear you breathing.’

The silence stretched out, but after a moment Peter said in a rather choked voice, ‘Could be in the bathroom, couldn’t I?’

Spock’s eyebrow rose. He had not known there was access to the bathroom from this room.

‘You could indeed,’ he acknowledged. ‘You will have to be patient with my blindness. It is as unfamiliar to me as it is to you. I do not know this room yet.’

There was a small snort of air. Spock could not interpret the meaning of the noise, but it sounded as if the boy were unimpressed, or at least unwilling to listen.

‘Peter, are you on the bed?’ he asked.

There was no reply. Spock took a few steps towards the boy, feeling certain that he was at least near the bed, if not on it. After approximately two metres his leg touched the edge of the mattress, and he sat down there, feeling about across the covers to see where Peter was.

‘I’m not on the bed,’ the boy said after a moment, in a rather grudging but slightly more open tone.

‘Very well,’ Spock nodded. He reassessed the evidence of his senses, and decided the boy was probably on the floor behind the bed. ‘Peter, I am truly sorry about the loss of your parents,’ he said after a moment of silence.

Peter laughed, and the sound reminded him very much of Jim’s humourless laugh in the cabin outside. He thought he could understand why the boy sounded disbelieving. To most humans Vulcans were characterised as completely emotionless automatons, incapable of any kind of sympathy.

‘Contrary to popular opinion, Vulcans are able to feel grief, and to empathise with grief,’ he said. ‘We, too, suffer loss. I have never lost a parent, but I have known loss.’

‘I just want to go home,’ the boy said after a silence, and there was the roughness of tears in his voice.

‘I am quite aware of that,’ Spock nodded. ‘But there is very little left of your home, Peter. All of your possessions have been packed and will accompany us to Earth. It is true that the building stands, but a building is a shell. There have been a great many deaths on Deneva. The world will be in considerable disarray for some time. It is possible it will be a dangerous place to live for a while. At your grandmother’s you will be safe, and cared for.’

Peter began to sob. Spock sat still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then he got up and carefully manoeuvred around the bed until his outstretched hand touched the boy’s shoulder. He was evidently hunched up on the floor in the narrow gap between the bed and the wall. He was not comfortable with the idea of holding the boy, so he simply sat on the side of the bed with his hand on his shoulder. With the touch came an almost unbearable assault of undisciplined emotions, but he did bear it, and tried to impart his own ability to draw on calm and logic. It was not a mind meld, but simply a touch which should be therapeutic to the boy.

After a while the sobbing subsided, and Spock felt the chaotic emotions start to even out too. He sat still with his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and waited for him to make a move. Eventually the boy straightened out and stood up.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Spock,’ he said.

‘It is no matter, Peter,’ he said.

‘Is Uncle Jim really mad at me?’ he asked.

‘He is concerned about you,’ Spock corrected him gently. ‘You must remember, Peter, that the captain is also grieving. He has lost his brother.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Peter murmured. Then he said in a wondering voice, ‘Gee, I’m hungry.’

‘It is well past dinner time, going by _Enterprise_ time,’ Spock pointed out. ‘Peter, would you help me back into the main cabin?’

‘Er – yeah, sure,’ he said rather awkwardly, and a small, tear-moistened hand closed around Spock’s. With some trepidation, Spock followed him out through the room.

‘I’m sorry, Uncle Jim,’ Peter said as soon as they were through the door, letting go of the Vulcan’s hand. Spock stood quietly, trying not to listen too closely as some kind of reconciliation went on between the boy and his uncle. He could not imagine that this would be the last of their problems with Peter, but perhaps for a little while he would be all right.

‘Captain, Peter was suggesting it is time for something to eat,’ Spock said once the reconciliation was apparently complete.

‘Oh, well, there’s a good restaurant down on deck 3, I think,’ Jim said quickly. ‘Unless you’d rather have room service, Spock. Actually, I guess that would be better...’

‘I would rather eat in the restaurant,’ Spock said firmly. That was misdirection, at best. Spock would far rather have stayed confined to these few rooms than go out parading among the other passengers, but he was keenly aware that the only way he could adapt to this blindness was to carry on doing what he could. There was no other way in which he could learn.

‘Really, Spock? Are you sure?’ Jim asked him. Spock found the degree of anxiousness in his voice slightly irritating.

‘I am not an invalid, Jim,’ he said quietly. ‘I would rather eat dinner in the restaurant.’

  
  


((O))

  
  


Spock was grateful that the restaurant did not appear to be too crowded, but that was one of its few saving graces. He had not eaten outside of his or Jim’s cabin since his blinding, and although Jim assured him that he was quite neat enough, it was a frustrating business trying to detect and manage food at the end of metal pieces of cutlery. The only respite was that on arriving Peter apparently spied a children’s area, and elected to go and eat his meal with other children on the flight instead of with his guardian.

‘Well, it’s nice to be alone, anyway,’ Jim said with a sigh as Peter’s footsteps retreated into an area that sounded rather less calm than the main dining area.

‘Alone is a relative term,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Yes, of course, there’s alone and alone,’ Jim agreed, ‘but this will do for now. I want to talk to you about what happens when we get to Earth, Spock.’

‘I believed that was all arranged, Jim,’ Spock replied. ‘We were to travel to Riverside and stay for fourteen days, and then you would accompany me to San Francisco and remain for five days before returning to the ship.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Jim said, sounding a little guilty. ‘Yes, that’s what I told you...’

Spock lifted an eyebrow curiously. ‘That is not our actual itinerary?’

At that point the waiter arrived with their food, and there was a brief interruption as he set down plates and drinks.

‘Want me to tell you where everything is, Spock?’ Jim asked as the waiter moved away, and Spock nodded briefly. The clock system was another tactic that Jim had learnt from the computer, and he proceeded to describe what was on the Vulcan’s plate in terms of where it would sit on the face of an analogue timepiece.

Spock listened, but he was more concerned as to how Jim had changed their itinerary than exactly where his food was.

‘Captain, you were saying,’ he prompted.

‘Don’t get mad at me,’ Jim began a little warily.

‘I never get mad,’ Spock said. As he sat facing his partner and captain in the darkness he felt a fleeting moment of desire to be able to see the expressions on his face that would tell him so much.

‘Spock, I’ve taken an extended transfer off the _Enterprise_ ,’ Jim said in a rush, as if skipping over the words would make them less of a shock.

‘I – beg your pardon, Jim?’ Spock asked, setting down his cutlery, wondering if he had perhaps heard wrongly against the background noise in the room and the kitchen beyond.

‘You heard me right, Spock. I knew you’d argue so I thought I’d wait until it was a _fait accompli._ ’

Spock pressed his lips together hard, declining to speak, but with a million thoughts moving in his mind. He could feel Jim about to speak again, but just before he did some kind of commotion arose from across the room, a voice raising in anger.

‘Oh dear god, Peter,’ Jim muttered.

Spock sighed. He had thought that their problems with Peter had been solved, at least for tonight.

‘I’ll be back in a second,’ Jim said.

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded.

He sat listening attentively as Jim walked away across the room and got into discussion with what sounded like two males and a female. His eyebrow rose a little at their accent, although the features Spock detected were very subtle, probably inaudible to most. It appeared that Peter had inadvertently tossed a foam ball out of the children’s play area, which had landed in one of the party’s soup. Jim was occupied for some minutes in restoring peace to the disturbed diners and offering to pay for a new bowl of soup.

‘Orion, Jim?’ Spock asked as his captain returned.

‘No, Spock,’ Jim said as he sat, sounding surprised. ‘Human, or near as dammit. Peter had – ’

‘I heard,’ Spock said, dismissing the incident from his mind. He wanted to know more about Jim’s drastic decision to temporarily leave the _Enterprise._ ‘Jim, you were talking, before we were interrupted, about your transfer.’

‘Yes, I was,’ Jim said. ‘Spock, I did a lot of thinking, weighing things up in my mind, over the last few days. I came down to the realisation that it’s _you_ , Spock. I know the _Enterprise_ is my ship, she’s the most important thing in my life. _Almost_ the most important thing. But the most important is you. I want to be able to support you through this, and the ship will survive with Scotty at the helm for a few months. So I called up an Admiral or two, pulled all the strings that I could, and I’ve got a ground assignment at Fleet headquarters.’

‘Jim, I – ’ Spock began, but he truly felt as if he did not have the words. This was unprecedented, and it was almost impossible to cogitate the lengths Jim would have had to go to to secure such a transfer. He had never imagined Jim voluntarily leaving his ship. He could think of dozens of logical arguments but he knew that none would sway this stubborn human.

‘There’s no point in trying to argue, Spock,’ Jim said, confirming his thoughts. ‘It’s done. It’s all settled. There’s something going on at headquarters – I can’t talk about it here – and they were looking for a person with experience in the right area. Well, I’ve got that experience, and so I put myself forward for the job. I’ll be desk-bound in the daytime, but I’ll be there for you every morning and evening and weekend. I’m not going to leave you alone in this.’

Spock pushed at an unidentifiable soft shape on his plate with the end of his fork. He felt perturbed at the thought of Jim giving up so much for him, but he was not sure if his discomfort was at the captain losing his command, albeit temporarily, or at the assumption that he, Spock, would not be able to function alone in San Francisco. Or was it that he was afraid that it was true that he would not be able to function alone in San Francisco, and he was discomforted by that thought? Perhaps it was his own helplessness which disturbed him, and Jim’s need to help him was only a physical manifestation of that helplessness.

He reached out for his glass of water and closed his hands around the cool sides, summoning calm and rationality. What was, was. He was blind. Jim would be with him in San Francisco. That was what was going to happen, and there was no way, and no reason, to change it.

 


	7. Chapter 7

In the cool double bed in their cabin Spock moved a little closer to Jim. He was comfortable, but it was decidedly chilly on this human ship compared to his quarters on the _Enterprise_. For the first time since leaving he felt a small lurch in his chest. If he did not satisfactorily complete this rehabilitation training and pass the mandated tests, he would never return to that cabin. It had not struck him until now that he could be permanently leaving the only home he had known for over a decade.

‘I’d turn the heating up if I could,’ Jim murmured. ‘I’m sorry, Spock. Tran-Space is essentially a human line.’

‘Yes, I am aware,’ Spock said. ‘Jim, you said you would tell me more about your transfer once we were in private. Now Peter is asleep – ’

‘Yes, yes, I did,’ Jim said.

He sounded decidedly sleepy, but he roused himself, straightening up in the bed and sitting up against the pillows. Spock could feel through their latent link Jim’s mind becoming more alert, settling into command mode. He wondered at Jim giving up his position of command over four hundred and thirty crewmembers to take this job at headquarters, even if it were temporary. Command was in his blood. It was his first love. But then there was that other Jim, he was aware, the one who owned stacks of antique real-paper books with dusty aromas, who could quote D. H. Lawrence and Melville at the drop of a hat, who loved the taste of fresh air and earth beneath his feet. Perhaps this transfer was not utterly against his nature. The Deneva incident had put a great strain on the young captain both personally and professionally, and perhaps a total change would do him good.

‘Jim, are you absolutely sure you want to give up your – ’ Spock began.

‘ _Yes_ , Spock,’ Jim cut over him. ‘Yes, I’m sure. I need to be with you, Spock – not because I think you’re helpless, not because I pity you, but because I _love_ you. You’re part of me and I’m part of you. I couldn’t stand to have you so far away and going through this.’

Spock reached a hand out to touch Jim’s warm chest. He could feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs. It was oddly placed compared to Vulcan anatomy, but he had grown used to it. There it was, so undeniably strong and real. In this closeness of night time he could almost pretend that he was not blind, that the light was simply turned off, that Jim was as much in the dark as he was.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ he said simply.

Jim put his hand over Spock’s. ‘I couldn’t do anything else, Spock. Now, about this assignment. Headquarters had been putting out feelers for someone to take this job for a few weeks. It was a lucky coincidence. You know what it’s like there, Spock. They’re either all paper-pushers or men who’ve been away from active command for so long that they don’t remember what it’s like. Very few of them have recent frontier experience, recent first contacts under their belts, recent engagements with enemies. They wanted someone who’s been out among the stars, taking in new experiences.’

‘But for what, Jim?’ Spock asked.

Jim lowered his voice, even though it was extremely unlikely that anyone could overhear. The walls were not so thin on this ship, and Spock could tell from the quiescent mental emanations that young Peter Kirk was fast asleep.

‘There have been suspicions recently that there might be foreign agents trying to infiltrate Command,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I shouldn’t even be telling you, really, but I know there’s a chance you’d pick it up in a meld, so I need to let you know. Also, I value your advice and I thought you might be able to help me. Now, they don’t know who they are or where they’re from, but it’s vital that they’re picked up. They could even be Klingon or Romulan, and if they’ve penetrated our defences so deeply we can’t let them get back to their homeland.’

Spock lay in silence, cogitating what Jim had told him. It would indeed be a concern if there were spies or assassins so close to the heart of the Federation and Starfleet, but he wondered how Jim hoped to have any success in routing them out. He was not a detective or an expert in espionage, but a starship captain known for working very close to the edge of regulations. Some might call him a live wire. He still could not imagine Jim being content to stay in a job that bound him to Earth.

‘Exactly what kind of danger are they thought to pose?’ he asked.

‘They don’t know that yet, either,’ Jim said grimly. ‘It could be anything from simply sending data back to their masters to planning a terrorist attack or some kind of coup. It's my job to find out.’

Spock lay in the dark and considered that. It seemed a stretch for one man to investigate such things. Surely he would have a team under him? He could not help but wonder if there was something Jim was still keeping from him, something that made _him_ right for the job over any other person. But then Jim was an extraordinary human being. What was it he had said during the Deneva crisis? _I want that third alternative_. Perhaps that was what made Jim the perfect choice for an assignment like this. He did not stop at the obvious. He always searched for the third alternative.

((O))

After three nights on the ferry, arrival was quite as hectic as departure, with lines of humans jostling and pushing to get out into the space dock as if they were desperate to rejoin with Earth. Quite probably they  _were_ desperate for just that. Not many people spent as much time in space as Starfleet officers and a fair proportion found space travel deeply unnerving.

Spock was clad in a dark charcoal suit, anticipating that spring in Iowa would not be quite warm enough for comfort. He did not know how Jim was dressed but he knew that he was in civilian clothes, and the fabric of his jacket was soft under his hand as he followed him through the dock. Peter trailed behind, reluctant, but at least with the party rather than attempting to escape into shops or arcades as he had on the starbase. The three days travel to Earth had allowed him to reconcile himself a bit more fully with his fate.

‘We’ll cut through to the Fleet section and use the transporter there,’ Jim told Spock as they navigated through the crowds.

‘We are not on duty. Is that quite ethical?’ Spock asked.

Jim laughed. ‘They won’t mind, Spock, and it beats taking the communal transporter to Chicago and having to trek back to Riverside from there.’

‘Likely there would be a shuttle station or local transporter terminal very near the Chicago terminal,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Spock, we’re using the Fleet transporter,’ Jim said, putting on his command voice. ‘No arguments. I’ve got a twelve year old boy in tow, and – ’

‘And a blind man,’ Spock finished for him.

Jim sighed. ‘I didn’t say that, Spock.’

‘No, you did not,’ Spock replied. ‘But it is a given that my presence is causing you extra difficulty. There is no logic in denying that.’

‘I’m not even going to get into that,’ Jim said firmly. ‘Now, I need to go up to the transport desk for a minute to make sure they send all the luggage to the right place. I need to give them the details of the funeral home in Riverside. Keep having nightmares of them beaming Sam and Aurelan straight down to mom’s place, and – well – ’ He trailed off, obviously remembering the presence of Peter nearby. It was quite common on the _Enterprise_ to displace grief and shock with a rather crude gallows humour, but there was a time and a place.

‘If you will take me to the side of this area I will stay with Peter until you are done,’ Spock offered. He was sure that it would not be good for Peter to hear his uncle talking about arrangements with the funeral home and the mass of packed up belongings from his home on Deneva.

‘Thank you, Spock,’ Jim said with real relief. ‘Look, there’s a waiting area over there, with seats. I’ll take you over, and I will be back from sorting this out as soon as possible.’

((O))

They beamed down into cool fresh air, the sound of light wind rustling leaves, and sunshine that was strong if not terribly warm on the side of Spock’s face. He heard Jim take in a deep breath, but there was a hitch in the sound, as if he were trying to suppress strong emotion.

‘I always loved the farm at this time of year,’ Jim said, but Spock could still hear that catch in his voice. He closed his fingers a little tighter around Jim’s arm, giving him a silent mental projection of reassurance.

There was a flurry of noise nearby, a door opening and then the voice of an older woman saying, ‘Oh, Jim! Jim, I didn’t realise you’d be here so soon.’

Spock relinquished his hold on Jim’s arm, and the captain moved away from him, walking with firm steps over towards where that voice had come from.

‘We took the Fleet transporter, got us down here a bit faster than it would have to go through civilian immigration and public channels,’ Jim was saying as he strode across the ground.

 _Grassed_ , Spock thought, by the feeling underfoot and the sound as Jim walked. Presumably they had been beamed to the house’s front yard, but it was disconcerting that he could not immediately tell if that were true or not. He could hear the trees and occasionally the sound of the wind buffeting what was probably the house, but beyond that he was in a completely unknown situation.

‘Never mind, never mind, you’re here, and I’m always ready for you,’ the woman said. Then her voice seemed to break, and she said, ‘Oh, Jimmy...’

Jim’s voice sounded muffled now. ‘I know, mom, I know.’

Spock imagined they were hugging, but what he didn’t expect was the sudden welling of pain and grief from his bondmate’s mind. He didn’t know if Jim were visibly crying, but in his mind it was as if a wall had suddenly broken down and tears were flooding through. Spock took a step forward instinctively, but he did not want to intrude, and to all extents and purposes he was standing on a small island with almost unknown waters around him. He wondered where Peter was, but Jim’s mental emanations were so strong he could sense no others.

‘Oh, Spock, I’m sorry,’ Jim said suddenly, and Spock was aware that he had turned back to him. ‘Mom, this is Spock,’ he said, coming across the lawn to take hold of his arm. ‘Petey, why don’t you go say hi to your grandmother?’

Now Jim was more in control Spock could sense Peter, filled with uncertainty, shyness, and something that bubbled beneath like anger.

‘There, don’t bother the boy,’ Jim’s mother said quietly, coming across to them as Spock heard Peter’s footsteps slam away against the ground in a run. ‘He’ll probably go out to the tree house. He spent hours in there, days almost, last time he came with – ’ Her voice broke, and for a moment there were no words, until she said, ‘I am so sorry, Mr Spock. So rude of me.’

‘Not at all, Mrs Kirk,’ Spock assured her in a gentle voice.

‘You’ve had your own loss to bear,’ she murmured, and Spock felt that awkwardness that seemed to rise in every human who encountered him since losing his sight. ‘Well, come on inside,’ she said, injecting a false cheerfulness into her voice. ‘I’ll get coffee on, and we can sit and talk. It’s been a long time since you and I talked, Jimmy. You don’t visit enough.’

After a little time inside Spock found himself alone with Mrs Kirk while Jim went outside to check on Peter and try to persuade him to come in. He sat on a wooden chair with his arms resting on a wooden table, holding the handle of a mug of coffee which he had accepted more for courtesy’s sake than real thirst.

‘Jim said that he’s staying on Earth for a while, so he can be with you, Mr Spock,’ Mrs Kirk said, as if to break the silence, which was in danger of become awkward.

‘Yes, the captain feels a great sense of responsibility – ’ Spock began, but Mrs Kirk interrupted.

‘You know, he’s told me all about you,’ she said, ‘been completely honest with me. I know you’re in a relationship with him, and I’m fine with that. I’m just happy that he’s happy.’

Spock relaxed his spine a little so that it touched the chair back. It was a relief to hear that. He had not been sure what Jim had said and he was anticipating separate bedrooms and having to continue some kind of charade of mere friendship in front of his mother’s eyes.

‘Mrs Kirk – ’ he began.

‘Winona, please,’ she told him. ‘Or Win, if you want to get really familiar.’

He could hear the smile in her voice, but there were still waves of sadness behind it. She was obviously holding on to her grief.

‘Winona,’ Spock nodded, his voice taking on a formal tone. ‘I am grateful for your acceptance and honoured by the opening of your doors to me.’

He could feel her smile now. Her mind held similarities to Jim’s, and without shutting down his shields entirely against her, her emotions felt like a soft sea washing against him.

‘That sounds like a ritual phrase,’ she said.

‘Correct,’ he nodded, ‘but none the less meant.’

‘Spock, I am very, _very_ grateful for everything you did, the tests you went through, to help those people on Deneva,’ she told him.

‘I did no more than was my duty,’ Spock said gravely. ‘I also acted to save myself.’

‘Nonetheless, you helped to save my grandson, and he’s all I have left of Jim’s brother.’

Spock bowed his head momentarily. He had never met Samuel Kirk in life, but he had been startled at how very much he looked like Jim, and he felt a certain regret that he would never know him.

There was a clatter as Jim’s mother set her mug down on the table. He could feel the change in her emotions, the strong grief being forcibly overlain with cheerfulness.

‘It looks like Jim might be outside for a while with poor Pete,’ she said. ‘Now, you’re staying here for two weeks, aren’t you, Spock? Would you like me to take you around the house so you know where things are? You might want to get familiar with the bathroom and the kitchen and where the chairs are in the sitting room, at least.’

Spock hesitated. He had been focussing so intently on the sound of Winona’s voice and what she was saying that he had stopped noticing the darkness so acutely. Now it rushed back again and he was suddenly reminded of everything that it meant. He was bound here to this chair in a room he could not see, reliant on the goodwill of those around him if he wanted to move about, reliant on their help to get food, to pick out his clothes, to go anywhere beyond learned and familiar routes – and as yet no route was familiar in this place. He knew nothing about Jim’s home.

He felt a catastrophic breaking down of his ability to control of a kind that had not hit him since his blinding. This was it. This was how it would be for the rest of his life, always dependent, always trapped by the inability of light to reach his brain. What idiocy to think that he would be able to return to his duties on the _Enterprise_. Idiocy to think that his relationship with Jim could continue through a carer-patient partnership. Idiocy to think that he would be _all right_ , that things would heal, that this could be overcome.

‘Spock? Mr Spock?’ Jim’s mother asked anxiously.

He took in a deep breath, his hands tightening convulsively on the coffee mug. Abruptly, it shattered, and warm coffee flooded out from the almost full mug, over the table and down onto his lap.

‘I am sorry, I am sorry,’ he said quickly, shocked at his own lack of control. His hands were still cupped around a shattered collection of pottery shards and covered in a slick of rapidly cooling liquid.

Winona was on her feet, around at his side of the table, fussing around him as she tried to mop up the coffee both from the table and his sodden thighs. Her hands were over his, soft and gentle and cool as Jim’s, but he could feel the age in them.

‘Let me look, Mr Spock. Let’s see. No, no harm done. There’s no blood.’

She sounded like a mother reassuring her child. Spock still felt shocked, whited out at the sudden loss of control he had experienced. She was wiping his palms with a damp cloth, examining them closely it seemed.

‘Just a tiny scratch on one,’ she said, touching her fingertip to a place near the top of Spock’s left palm. The telepathic assault of her touch was almost unbearable. He felt he had no ability to shield. There was so much pain in her mind, so much loss, even while she was masking it all and pretending to be concerned only over Spock’s hands. Perhaps Vulcans were not the only masters of concealing emotion.

He tried to pull himself together, to make his voice steady and without inflection.

‘I will, of course, pay for the cup.’

He had not succeeded. There was a tremor in his voice.

‘Oh, no, don’t be silly. It was just a mug. An old thing.’

‘You must allow me to – ’ Spock tried again, and then stopped. His desperate attempt to make recompense was as wildly emotional as the reaction that had broken the mug in the first place. ‘Mrs Kirk, I don’t think I’ll take a tour of the house right now,’ he said in a very level voice. ‘Could you simply show me to my room? I am in need of meditation.’

‘Of course, of course,’ she said in a kindly tone. ‘I don’t think your luggage is here yet. I wonder if I have any old clothes of Jim’s that would fit you? Your pants are soaked.’

He shook his head. ‘There is no need to trouble yourself,’ he said. All he wanted was to be left alone.

‘Well, I’ll have a look,’ she promised.

As he stood up there was a small clatter as more pieces of the broken mug fell to the ground. Spock regretted causing so much disturbance so soon on entering Jim’s family home, but there was nothing he could do. He allowed Mrs Kirk to take hold of his arm and manoeuvre him across the room. She took him to the stairs and showed him the banister and anxiously followed him up with a hand almost touching his back. He had not had to navigate stairs since his blinding, and he walked cautiously, pressing his foot to the back of the stair on each tread, feeling carefully to be sure if it were the last one or not.

‘Here we are,’ Mrs Kirk said as they reached the top, putting a hand on each arm from behind him. She steered him to the right, and then left, reaching around him to open a door. ‘Here’s your room. Do you want the bed or a chair? I wonder if I’ve got any of Jim’s old clothes in the drawers here...’

Spock murmured responses and found himself sitting in what felt and smelt like a relatively old armchair while Jim’s mother scraped open drawers and banged them closed again.

‘Here you are, dear,’ she said, putting a wad of fabric into his hands. ‘There’s his old jeans. Gosh, I remember when he used to wear these... They might be a tiny bit short in the leg for you, but he was a bit slimmer in those days, and I think they’ll be about right round the waist.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Kirk,’ Spock said, moving a hand over the roughness of the denim. He did not want to put the jeans on. He just wanted to be left alone. She seemed to sense that, and after a few more irrelevant comments she left the room.

Spock breathed out a long, calming breath, and closed his eyes in the sudden peace. He stretched out his legs and noticed again the cold, clinging feeling of the drenched trousers over him. The liquid was definitely cold now, and making him shiver. He stood and peeled the garment off, leaving it neatly folded on the floor. He brushed his hands over his thighs to try to wipe away the last remnants of the coffee. The scent rose around him as it evaporated from his warm skin. His underpants were wet too, and he took them off. Then, suddenly conscious of his semi-nudity in this unfamiliar room, he unfolded the jeans and slipped them on.

The feeling of the fabric against his skin was strangely reassuring. The overwhelming scent of the jeans was that of clothes put away for a long time, but beneath that, faint but lingering, he could smell _Jim_ , and that scent was like a warm blanket to him. He felt a flicker of positivity alight in his chest, but the darkness around it was so great. He felt very tired in his mind.

He steepled his fingers in front of his face, pressing his fingertips together to try to push their formation into his mind even though he could not visually focus on the shape they made. He tried to bring himself down into a place of clarity, a place of calm. He tried to make himself aware of his feelings, examine them, and carefully remove them.

He failed.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Jim came back weary but satisfied from the tree house where Peter was holed up. The boy wasn’t ready yet to come into the house but they had shared a long talk and quite a few tears, too. It had seemed to help the boy to see that his strong, adult, starship-captain uncle was capable of breaking down over the loss of Peter’s parents too. Jim had promised to come out again in a little while to check on him, but he was happy that he would be all right there for a while. He just needed time alone, time he had had precious little of since waking up in sick bay and being told of his parents’ deaths.

He walked into the kitchen to see his mom sitting alone at the table, nursing a cup of coffee that looked as if it had gone cold.

‘Where’s Spock, mom?’ he asked instantly, registering the absence in the room.

‘He’s upstairs having a rest. Meditating,’ she said tiredly. She looked down at the surface of her coffee, jiggling the cup a little so that ripples set up across the surface. ‘I know they say Vulcans don’t feel emotion, but there’s a man with a lot on his mind,’ she said, almost as if to herself. ‘He’s quite – Well, I don’t know how to define it with a Vulcan. I think he’s got a whole sackful of troubles on his shoulders, Jimmy.’

‘What happened, mom?’ he asked, concerned now.

She laughed quietly, but it was a sad sound. ‘He broke your father’s mug for one thing. You know the old brown one he always had his coffee in.’

‘Oh, mom, I’m sorry,’ Jim said sadly. He could still remember seeing dad sitting in his chair with that mug between his hands, warming them after cold winter work outside. ‘You know, he’s not used to being blind. He’s – well, he’s a little clumsy sometimes. He’s trying so hard... Too hard, I think.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all the pieces and I’ll take it to the restoration shop on Monday. They fix at the molecular level, you know, good as new. It’s not the first time it’s happened.’

‘No, I know that,’ Jim said guiltily, remembering an incident with a baseball that he should not have had in the house. Mom _would_ insist on using the mug. Didn’t want to make it into a museum piece, she said. Dad would never have wanted to be an exhibit.

‘Anyway, he didn’t knock it onto the floor,’ she continued. ‘He broke it with his bare hands.’

‘ _Spock_ did?’ Jim asked, amazed. ‘ _Spock_?’

She nodded, looking up at him. ‘Vulcans are strong, aren’t they? He was just holding it and – well – who am I to judge what’s going on in his mind, but I suggested showing him around the house and he just seemed to deflate. Got very frustrated, I think. He just clenched his fists. I think he’d forgotten he was holding the mug – and it shattered. He said he needed to meditate and I took him up to your room, but – well, I don’t know, Jim. It’s an alien culture he’s from and maybe meditation is exactly what he needs, but I can’t help feeling what he really needs is someone to talk to.’

Jim felt torn horribly. He knew that his mom also probably needed someone to talk to, and he needed that just as much as she did. But Sam’s death had happened over a week ago. Although he was still grieving the death itself was in the past, something he was trying to get over. Spock’s problems were happening right now. He had been waiting for something like this, something to crack that monumental façade. Spock had been too composed since the first shock of what had happened had faded away. He had been right to expect the storm, he realised, and here it was, in full force. For someone like Spock, breaking a mug between his hands was tantamount to throwing a full on tantrum.

‘Yeah, I’d better go to him,’ he said. ‘Pete’s in the tree house still, mom. I told him we’d leave him alone for a little while. He’s hurting quite badly, but I think he’ll come round.’

‘All right, I’ll leave him there,’ she nodded. ‘You know, the boy could even sleep out there if he really wants to. Don’t worry about me, Jim. Go to Spock. He needs you.’

Jim squeezed his hand gently on his mother’s shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was almost entirely grey now. Somehow in his memory it was always brown.

He sighed and went up the creaking wooden stairs. Despite all of the trouble that was encircling him at the moment, it was good to be home, good to be in a place with fresh air and real wood, with stairs and wooden floorboards, glass windows looking onto the fresh green of wheat starting into life, and a blue sky scudded with clouds.

Spock could see none of that. He bit his lip into his mouth. How could he wrap his mind around the magnitude of that? Could it be that he hadn’t quite realised it himself? Spock was utterly, utterly blind. He did not even have light to help him. He never would have, if McCoy was right; and there was no reason to believe he was wrong. How could Spock, bright, independent, ever-curious Spock, be cut off from so much, so swiftly and irrevocably?

He put his hand on his bedroom door. This was all so familiar to him that it pulled deep in his chest, making him wish he could be fifteen and without care. Then he pushed the door open and saw Spock there, curled on the bed on top of the bright patchwork quilt that Jim’s great-grandmother had made. He was still clad in his charcoal grey jacket and black polo neck shirt, but the faded jeans he wore were slightly too short, and showed a small gap of flesh before the black of his socks.

‘Spock,’ Jim said softly. He could tell that his partner was not asleep, although one hand was resting over the side of his face so his eyes were obscured. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Quite fine, Jim,’ Spock said, without moving.

Jim stood there for a moment, just looking at him. That bare patch of skin between jeans and sock made his heart flutter. Then he moved forward and sat down on the edge of the bed near Spock’s head.

‘Don’t tell me fish stories, Spock,’ he said, putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder. He almost winced at the raw jolt of emotion that hit him through the touch. ‘You and I both know that’s not true.’

Spock sighed and straightened out on the bed, resting his hands at his sides. His face looked pale and drawn.

‘I was attempting to meditate,’ he said. His eyes were empty, apparently focussed on the ceiling but in reality seeing nothing.

‘You may have been attempting to meditate before,’ Jim said, ‘but how often do you meditate curled up with your hand over your face?’

‘I did not claim to be successful,’ Spock countered.

‘Spock,’ Jim said in a soft, low voice.

He bent over so he could kiss the Vulcan on the forehead, the cheek, the lips. Spock turned his head away.

‘Spock, I’m not trying to seduce you,’ Jim said with a touch of impatience. ‘I’m not that insensitive.’ He took the Vulcan’s hand, held it hard. ‘Let me in, Spock. Please, let me in.’

He fell into a dark and sucking pit. The emotions clamoured at him, beating against him, confusing his thoughts and making them into wordless beasts. There was no way to turn, no way to fight. He gasped, fighting for breath, flailing out, but to no avail. Everything was hopeless. There was nothing he could do. He could not breathe –

Abruptly the enveloping horror cut off. He could see again. He was sitting on the bed again, gasping, pressing a hand against his abdomen, heaving in air and relishing the light. He pushed a hand over his face, feeling the slick of sweat. Spock sat up, reaching out for him, wrapping his arms about him and holding him, pressing his face against Jim’s neck.

‘I am sorry. I am so sorry, Jim,’ he murmured, half muffled, and Jim felt his emotions again, muted this time, veiled behind layers and layers of control, but still there. Spock felt guilt, enormous and enveloping. He felt that he had assaulted Jim with his mind.

‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ Jim repeated as if he were soothing a child. ‘No, Spock, it’s all right. I asked you to let me in. You didn’t hurt me. _You’re_ hurting so badly, that’s all.’

‘So are you,’ Spock said, almost in a whisper.

‘That doesn’t matter right now,’ Jim said. ‘No, it doesn’t. Spock, mom told me you got frustrated and came upstairs. She told me about the coffee cup. I came up here for you, not for me.’

Spock stiffened, and Jim could feel him trying hard to pull back discipline and mind rules and eradicate the crushing emotion.

‘You don’t have to do that, Spock,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t have to be strong in front of me.’

‘I must be strong for myself,’ Spock said in a voice which trembled with the effort of driving away the errant emotions.

‘Talk to me, please,’ Jim urged him. ‘Before you shut it all away, talk to me. It doesn’t always work, you know, locking these things up in a closet. One day the door bursts open.’

Spock drew in a shaking breath. ‘I am full of self-doubt, Jim,’ he said quietly. ‘I doubt my ability to live in this way. I doubt my fitness for duty. I doubt – my relationship with you. I am no longer an equal. I am a dependant.’

Jim felt as if he had been punched in the chest. For a moment he imagined the bond pulling, dwindling, snapping and leaving him drifting with a hole ripped through his ribs.

‘Spock,’ he said, faltering. He strengthened his voice, and tried again. ‘Spock, never, _never_ think that you are a burden. Never think that I’d be better without you. Never think anything that puts you in a separate place from me. We are together, and we stay together. I love you. There’s nothing more to it than that. I know those words, _I love you,_ are hard for you to say. I don’t expect to hear them, and I don’t need to, because you show me through your actions and through your mind. But I can say them to you. I love you, and I will not leave you, no matter what.’

Spock exhaled, and an almost-smile touched his lips. He reached out, fumbling, and Jim took his hand, relieved that this time there was no fall into a vortex of emotion. Jim kissed him again, on the cheek and on the forehead, and then on the lips, and Spock returned the kiss, seeming to relax in gratitude at the loving touch.

‘I will help you get through this,’ Jim promised. ‘I will do whatever it takes.’

‘I know, Jim,’ Spock said very quietly. He was silent for a moment, then asked, ‘How is Peter?’

Jim shrugged. ‘So-so. He’s still out in the tree house. He had a good, proper cry – the first he’s let me see. It’s hard for him, all this change coming at once.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said, as if he entirely understood this reaction to catastrophic change.

‘Spock, do you want to stay up here for a while, or do you feel up to a walk around?’ Jim asked, anxious to get the Vulcan out of this room and distracted by other things. ‘You haven’t had the guided tour of the farm yet.’

‘Some elements may be lost on me,’ Spock said cynically, ‘but there is nothing wrong with me physically, Jim, beyond the obvious. I will come for a walk.’

((O))

Outside the wind drifted lightly over the first silk of wheat in the fields, rustled the new leaves on the trees, pushed light clouds across the sky. It was so perfect it made Jim’s chest hurt. The days of the past seemed to unfold for him, showing themselves in glimpses like pages being blown in the wind. There was where he had made a den with Sam and spent most of one summer, curled up out of sight with toys or books. There was the maize field where he had walked through rows of growing corn that were taller than his head, pretending to be in an alien jungle. There was the barn where he had taken Patsy Cunningham that time after school and he had got to second base before she had freaked out and run away.

He sighed, and Spock turned to him.

‘Jim?’ he asked.

They were walking arm in arm, like a couple, not a guide leading a blind man, and Spock appeared to be more content like that, although it was obvious to Jim that he was experiencing difficulty at times when they stepped onto uneven ground or the ground level changed suddenly.

‘Oh, just memories, Spock,’ Jim said with a smile. ‘But hey, maybe we can make some new ones of our own.’

Spock allowed a subtle smile onto his face. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

The open air seemed to be doing him good. Jim was not doing much by way of describing their surroundings, but both men were content just to walk along the field edges for their first time on a planet in a non-duty setting in months. The scent of the earth rose around them, and the more Jim concentrated on those things that Spock must be sensing the more he noticed. Grass releasing a bruised scent underfoot, the damp smell of a recent shower of rain, the distant sound of a dog barking, and closer, birds and insects so hidden in the trees that Jim could see them no better than Spock.

‘I take it the funerals will be soon, according to your American customs,’ Spock commented.

Those words jolted Jim back to reality.

‘Yes, in a few days,’ he said. ‘It’s already been a while and mom made a lot of the arrangements once she knew our ETA. I’ve told her to make it as easy on herself as she can. We’ll get a caterer and have the gathering in a hall near the church. You know, I don’t expect you to come, Spock. This is an entirely human thing.’

Spock stopped in mid-step. ‘Jim, of course I will be there, unless you wish me to remain absent,’ he said, sounding almost shocked.

Jim laughed, and the laugh almost turned into a sob. ‘Hell, Spock, I never want you to be absent from me. Never at all. But I thought you might find the service illogical, and I’m sure a room full of grieving humans is going to be a strain on your shields.’

‘I will be there,’ Spock said firmly. ‘I wish to stand at your side.’

  


 


	9. Chapter 9

Later that evening they lay close to one another in bed, Jim pressed against Spock’s back. His room was a little more cramped now than it had been when he was a child, due to the double bed his mother had installed as soon as it seemed likely that Jim might want to make use of it. His mother had never been prudish about sex, but she had not mentioned anything about the bed beyond saying one day, ‘I suppose that bed of yours is getting tired after so long. How about I go out and get you a new one?’

Jim had agreed without much interest, but had been surprised and warmly gratified when he’d come home on vacation from the Academy to see a pleasantly wide double bed in there with restrainedly adult bedclothes. A part of his space rocket wallpaper was still there like a memorial to his childhood, preserved in one strip that ran behind the mirror, but the rest of the room was quite suited to not embarrass a boy of eighteen.

He had been through a fair share of partners since that time, but he had brought very few of them back to make use of this bed. He was glad that Spock was one of those favoured ones, hopefully the last there would be.

He nestled closer to Spock’s warmth, pressing his nose against his neck, just behind the tapering ear. The room was lit with a soft glow from the bedside light, and he had installed a portable heater near the bed in deference to Spock’s physiology. This room in this ancient farmhouse was even colder than the one on the ferry, otherwise.

‘Warm enough?’ he asked in a voice so low it barely left his chest.

‘Quite,’ Spock replied. He seemed far more content than he had earlier.

‘I guess they’re all asleep by now.’

He could feel Spock’s concentration. He was reaching out with his mind, sensing the mental state of the other occupants of the house. Peter had been persuaded in from the tree house at dinner time and was now sleeping in his father’s old room. Jim’s mom was in her own bedroom. The house was utterly quiet.

‘Yes, they are all asleep,’ Spock nodded after a moment.

Jim stroked his hand down Spock’s flank, letting it come to rest on the sharpness of his hip. The Vulcan was naked, as he preferred to be in bed. Jim pressed forward a little, teasing his lips over Spock’s earlobe, and felt the frisson of pleasure ripple through his lover. He moved his hand a little more, curling it over Spock’s hip and down into the dark curls between his legs.

An almost imperceptible tension stiffened Spock’s body.

‘Jim, are you sure – with your mother so close?’ he asked.

‘She’s asleep,’ Jim whispered, ‘and I’m capable of discretion.’

It did not take much persuasion. Spock rolled over onto his back, letting his legs fall apart, and Jim pushed back the covers and set himself to dedicatedly touching the Vulcan’s body, kissing the dark areolae about the stiffening nipples, tracing his fingers through the spidering hair over his chest, kissing ribs, flanks, the undersides of his arms, which Spock had stretched up above his head. The Vulcan seemed quite content to lie still and accept the adoration, and Jim was quite content to be the worshipper at this particular living shrine.

‘Oh my god, you are beautiful,’ he murmured.

He felt a brief spike of pain from Spock’s mind.

‘What is it, my love?’ he asked, stopping with one hand spread over Spock’s side, where his heart thudded slowly.

‘I miss the sight of you,’ Spock said simply.

Jim put a hand to the side of Spock’s face, kissed his lips, kissed his lidded eyes, pressing his body up against Spock so that he could feel as much of him as possible. Spock lowered his hands then and began a delicate exploration of the human’s body, a fingertip tracing of swells and valleys, of the lines of his ribs and collarbones, his shoulder blades and neck, the shell curve of his ears, the soft hair of his head, and then the shape of his cheekbones, orbits, the broad forehead, the firm chin and full lips.

‘Oh, Jim, I miss the sight of this,’ Spock said again, putting his hand behind Jim’s head and turning it so that he could kiss him. Jim’s mouth fell open and Spock’s tongue slipped in to the warm space, touching his teeth, meeting with Jim’s own tongue. Through Spock’s fingertips, pressed against Jim’s scalp, Jim could feel the flames of desire and regret intermingling with a flood of memories. Spock had perfect recall and could conjure up the sight of Jim’s body any time he liked, but it was a vision of the past, not of this moment. He would never know the changes wrought by time, and every second widened the gap between memory and reality.

A kind of hard and determined anger flamed in the Vulcan, and Jim felt it like a jolt through the mind touch. Spock pushed him flat to the mattress, thrust aside the irritating coverings, straddled him and let his tumescent member press against Jim’s own hardening rod. His closed one fist around them both, pumping briefly, and Jim gasped in his throat at the exquisite feeling of Spock’s Vulcan heat against his own cooler organ.

More roughly now, Spock bent forward, attacking the human with kisses that almost became bites, his hands hard and fumbling, searching desperately over Jim’s body as if desperate to feel every inch of him. The hands moved down to stroke his yearning erection again, to cradle and gently squeeze the balls in their cool ridged sack, and then slipping lower still to massage the perineum, and finally to touch the puckered opening below. Jim gasped again, stuffed a hand in his mouth to stifle the noise, closed his eyes and willed control. He had not seen this angry, desperate Spock yet in their short relationship, and it aroused him terribly.

Suddenly he recalled a moment in their shared room on 1930s Earth, a thousand miles away from here in distance and hundreds of years in time.

 _The radio tubes and values had been carefully set on the floor so there was barely space to step. Spock had obviously made Jim’s bed ready for him, but Jim had not come home until dawn. He had been upstairs with Edith. They had done nothing but_ _sit_ _in her room and talk and talk until the dawn sun rose in the east. Edith talked as if her mind were on fire, alight with possibilities and hopes and joy in the power of humanity, and her fire kept Jim alight. He revelled in her mind almost more than her body. There was so much potential there, and the thought that she_ must _die was a constant pain that he kept hidden deep in his chest. She asked him occasionally why he was melancholy, and he brushed it off with mentions of the Depression, or being tired after work. But that night he had not felt tired at all. He had been kept buzzing by the sheer force of her enthusiasm._

_As the first golden rays of sunlight had struck the wall through the crack in the curtains, Edith had gasped and then laughed with pure joy._

‘ _Look, Jim, we stayed awake all night,’ she exclaimed, and there was a childish glee in her voice._

‘ _So we did,’ he realised. Although he was tired, her joy was infectious. ‘But look, I’d better get out of here,’ he said quickly. ‘People will talk, and I don’t want people talking about you. Get a couple hours sleep before you have to get up, hey?’_

_He had left her in her room, starry-eyed and so awake he was certain she wouldn’t even think of sleeping. Perhaps he could get a few hours himself, though. He had tiptoed downstairs, grateful for the emptiness of the halls, and pressed open the door to his and Spock’s room. Spock was deep in sleep in his own bed, and Jim’s bed was there on the other side of the room, the grey covers flat and folded in at the corners with a military precision. He had smiled at that small evidence of Spock’s diligence. Spock was working harder than any of them, labouring by day and spending every other minute on the construction of his mnemonic memory circuit. If he had been human the stress on him would have been unbearable._

_But there was a sliver of humanity in Spock, and one of the ways it manifested itself was in his body’s occasional betrayal of all the mind disciplines and controls. He could see by the bulge midway down the bed under the layers of blankets that Spock’s human side was asserting itself now. Hardly knowing why, Jim sat down on the edge of his own bed and watched the Vulcan, just watched him. Spock’s eyes were closed but he was not entirely relaxed. He was evidently dreaming. His head moved just a little, side to side, and then abruptly he smiled. Jim smiled too, caught by that incredible, open expression of joy which was so rarely seen in the Vulcan. The smile broadened, and then there was a laugh, and Spock’s whole body stirred, moving his tumescent organ against the confining blankets. The Vulcan let out a gasp of what sounded like pleasure, and Jim felt it like a moment of d_ _éjà vu_ _, a ripple of pleasure in his own mind. In his sleep, Spock was projecting his thoughts._

_Jim just sat and stared at him, his eyes moving between Spock’s face and that swelling beneath the blankets, and found himself becoming unaccountably aroused. He never would have pressed Edith to do something beyond her morals, but he could not deny that he felt extremely sexually frustrated. He felt he loved Edith with every particle of his being, and in another time they would have cast all_ _prudity_ _aside. And now here was Spock, his dear, dear friend, obviously engaged in some kind of sexual dream, and suddenly something lit inside him that he had never suspected before. It was a yearning, a desire, not just for Edith, but also for Spock, for the beauty of him, the perfection of him, the unbending loyalty of him. What had Edith said about Spock? That he belonged at Jim’s side, as if he had always been there and always will._ Always _. Always was a long time, but he could believe it of Spock. There was no always for Edith. In Jim’s life she was a mayfly, sparking bright and then doomed to leave. But Spock... Spock was constant. Spock was always there._

_In his sleep Spock writhed and reached a hand down under the covers to his yearning organ. His lips parted as he touched it, as he moved his fingers around it and murmured, ‘Jim...’_

When Spock had awoken some hours later on that crisp New York morning he had shown signs of the same burning determination that he was now. Jim didn’t know precisely what it was that had occurred in the Vulcan’s erotic dream, but something was propelling him with anger and fire to complete his work, to right the mistakes of time, to get both him and his captain back to their proper places. There was a desperation and a loneliness in the Vulcan that Jim had barely seen before. If it hadn’t been for Edith, if it hadn’t been that neither of them had yet confessed the feelings that Jim knew now they were both feeling, perhaps they would have ended up in the situation of having desperate, no-holds-barred sex in that mean single room of theirs.

Now Spock was the same, desperate and hungry and unbearably alone, reaching out with urgency to try to bridge the gap, to join himself with his lover, to find some kind of place where he could be content. Jim lay back and let him. Spock reached out blindly, his hand waving towards the bedside cabinet, which lay at least twelve inches from his grasp. Jim knew what he was looking for and retrieved the small bottle of oil that he always made sure to keep handy, and pressed it into Spock’s hand.

Spock opened the lid with a soft pop and drizzled oil into his hand. He reached down and let it trickle down between Jim’s legs, not bothering to warm it in his palm as was his custom. Jim gasped and writhed a little, and Spock followed the trail of oil with his hand, finding that tight pucker again, circling it with a finger and then pushing one, two, three digits through the muscular ring. Jim gasped again, arching up, and Spock gave a low rumble of satisfaction in his chest. He did not pause for much foreplay, but took his own yearning erection in his hand and placed the tip against Jim’s opening. With the other he took Jim’s own organ and stroked it, pumped it, as he pressed forward through the initial resistance of Jim’s muscle and then slipped deep into his body. He let out a low sigh of pleasure, and began to set up a rhythm, forgetting to pleasure Jim with his hand now, pressing their bodies together and letting his belly glide instead against the captain’s erection. The sensation inside him and the sensation without of Spock’s body pressed against his was enough, and Jim threw his head back, his mouth open, willing himself to remain quiet for the sake of the others in the house.

Spock’s face was set, his lips pressed together, the muscles of his arms straining as he held himself a little above Jim’s chest as he thrust and thrust again. He was entirely abstracted, focussing on nothing but his own pleasure and unwittingly bringing Jim to the edge in his fervour. Jim pushed his fist into his mouth. As the hot, soft-hard organ glided against his prostate he wanted to scream aloud. Spock continued to push rhythmically into his lover’s body, and then he took the weight off his arms, lay full on Jim’s chest, touched his fingertips either side of Jim’s head.

As they entered full meld Jim lost all control. He could not have stopped himself screaming, but Spock was there, still with enough discipline to keep himself and his lover quiet. The meld was wordless, thoughtless almost. It was a blaze of fire, of pleasure twined, twinned and multiplied and writhing in their minds. Gold and scarlet burst and erupted in Jim’s head, creating an almost unbearable heat. He was barely aware of the physical sensations of his body. It was as if the entire world was pleasure, and bodies, senses, sight, sound, touch, meant nothing any more.

There was a crescendo, and dimly he was aware of Spock’s control pressing against his vocal chords, keeping his cry to nothing more than a whimper as Spock’s seed jetted into his body and his own erupted between their bellies.

Spock’s body lost all tension and collapsed against him. They lay like that for a long time, Spock’s arms pressed against Jim’s sides and Jim’s reached up about Spock’s back to hold him still. Spock was panting, his breath coming in quick rasps and billowing out hot against Jim’s face. He could feel tears on the Vulcan’s cheek. Jim held him like a child, shushing him gently, stroking his hands against Spock’s back. After a time he gently rolled Spock off him and went to the bathroom to clean up, coming back with a warm cloth so that he could clean his lover without requiring him to leave the warmth of the room. Then he curled up against Spock’s side again, and prepared to drift into sleep.

A cry broke the deep silence of the night, and Jim jerked upright.

‘Pete,’ he said instantly, groping around for a dressing gown and pyjama bottoms.

Spock was upright too, his ear turned towards the wailing noise.

‘I’d better go before he wakes mom,’ Jim said.

Jim walked through the darkened house, taking the path to Sam’s room on instinct. He had walked down the landing in the dark like this plenty of times before, but it had always been to sit at the end of Sam’s bed, sharing his coverings, their bare feet touching, so they could talk so quietly mom didn’t hear, or read, or both bend their necks to see a vid on Sam’s padd that mom would be sure to forbid if she knew they were watching.

The memories were so strong that when he opened the door he almost expected to see Sam in there, chequered pyjamas, hair ruffled, a grin on his face. But it was Peter in there, sitting up and clutching the covers to his chest, with tears streaming down his face.

‘Hey, Petey,’ he said softly, treading across the room to him. ‘What was it? Nightmare?’

The boy nodded wordlessly. His lips were pressed together so hard that they were pale. His eyes were red.

Jim sat down next to him and put his arm around him. He realised then that Pete was wearing an old pair of Sam’s pyjamas. They even smelt like him. The grief welled up in his chest so hard that it felt like a tumour swelling in his throat, and he could not stop it. His throat physically hurt and his eyes stung with tears. He held Peter hard, rocking him, waiting until he felt able to speak without letting out the weeping that wanted to come.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Jim asked eventually.

Peter shook his head emphatically, but Jim could imagine he had plenty of scope for nightmares; those freakish creatures that some had described as jello on pancakes; the feeling of their tendrils in his body, exerting a screaming pain from every nerve; the sight of his parents struck down by the same agony, friends and neighbours going mad and dying or turning into zombies with no volition but what the creatures asked of them. McCoy had speculated that Peter hadn’t been infected for as long as his parents. Children were of less use to the parasites, and if he had been infected longer it was likely he would not have survived. He must have seen his mother and father both in unbearable agony, both driven to actions they despised but could not resist. He would have expected Pete to have nightmares if his parents had been killed in a quick, clean shuttle accident, but as it was it was more than inevitable.

‘Do you feel like you can get back to sleep?’ he asked.

Peter shook his head again.

Jim squeezed his arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on, small fry,’ he said affectionately. ‘Come with me.’

Wonderingly, Peter got out of bed. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Jim said. ‘Where’s your coat?’

‘Downstairs, I think. Grandma put it away.’

Jim kissed him absently on the top of the head, and walked with him downstairs to find his coat.

‘Got shoes?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, here,’ Peter said, nodding towards the stack of shoes under the coats in the cupboard.

‘Good,’ Jim said, slipping his feet into his boots. He allowed himself a brief internal chuckle at what his crew would think if they saw him walking around in Starfleet issue boots, a dressing gown, and pyjama bottoms.

He opened the door very quietly, and took Peter outside. The light from the hall spilled out through the glass in the front door. Beyond that at first the darkness was complete, velvet, pressed down over everything. He walked forward with his arm about Peter’s shoulders across the grass of the front yard, around the edge of the house, towards the small stand of trees where the tree house was built. By the time they had passed through the trees their eyes had adjusted and the world was a lot more distinct, presenting itself in muted black and grey shades. They walked to the edge of the first field and Jim crouched down. After a moment Peter did too, and before long they were both sitting on the soft earth.

‘Look,’ Jim said, pointing out at the flatness of the wheat field. There were shapes out there, moving close to the ground.

‘What’s that?’ Peter asked.

‘Jackrabbits,’ Jim said. ‘The little ba – ahem – the little terrors want to eat the crops, but it’s good to see them. Was a time there were hardly any left in this country. I guess you’ve never seen a jackrabbit, huh?’

‘I can’t see them now,’ Peter said with a hint of a laugh that Jim was glad to hear. ‘We had rabbits on Deneva but I don’t think they were much like Earth ones.’

‘Really?’ Jim asked, intrigued. ‘What were they like?’

‘About this big,’ Pete said, describing a size with his hands that Jim couldn’t see in the dark. ‘They were gold and real fluffy, like an overinflated pompom, dad said. Nothing like an Earth rabbit, he said, but they had long ears and ate grass, so they called them rabbits.’

Jim thought that was the longest he had heard Peter talk for since he had awoken in sick bay. ‘Well, these aren’t gold and fluffy,’ he said. ‘Maybe tomorrow I’ll show you some pictures or vids of the animals round here. Would you like that?’

Peter nodded.

A long wavering hoot sounded.

‘What’s that?’ Peter asked instantly. For a moment Jim was astonished. Deneva was so Earth-like that he forgot that its entire flora and fauna were utterly alien.

‘That’s an owl, Pete,’ he said. ‘Lovely birds. Really beautiful. And that – ’ he said as another call sounded out, ‘that’s a nightjar.’

‘There weren’t animals like that at home,’ Peter said.

Jim smiled. ‘Maybe there were,’ he said, ‘but you probably wouldn’t see many in the city.’

He shook his head. ‘No, mom said there weren’t any – any – nighturnal – ?’

‘Nocturnal,’ Jim corrected him softly. ‘Really?’ he asked, astonished. ‘Deneva has no nocturnal creatures? I never knew that.’

Peter shrugged. ‘Mom said so.’

‘Well, then, it must be true,’ Jim smiled.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. The urge to sleep was burning in Jim’s eyes and he yawned expansively. Peter had moved closer to him, and was becoming almost limp against his side.

‘Ready for bed, Petey?’ he asked.

The boy was silent for a moment, and then he nodded.

‘I’ll tell your grandmother to let you sleep in,’ Jim promised. They stood up, and he kissed his nephew on the top of the head. ‘I love you, Petey,’ he said, and for the first time since their reunion at Deneva he really meant it. He felt he knew the boy now in a way that he never had before.

‘I love you too, Uncle Jim,’ Peter said, and Jim felt that he meant it, too.


	10. Chapter 10

The morning of the funerals came with what Jim described as clear skies and hot sun. The sun did not feel hot to Spock, but he was not going to quibble on today of all days. He stayed at Jim’s side, as he had promised, but he felt distinctly out of place as they prepared for this most human of ceremonies. It would be nothing like a Vulcan funeral. Spock tried to think of human metaphors that Jim might employ for his situation. Wallflower? Third wheel? He could not be certain what was appropriate, but in non-metaphoric terms he was on the outside, a guest who could not grieve, a person who should be offering help, but instead was forced to accept it.

‘Jim, are you certain it would not be better were I to remain at the house?’ he asked as he walked with the captain toward the front door. The air cars were outside, waiting to take the Kirk family to the church.

‘I am absolutely certain,’ Jim replied. There was something odd to his voice, a strange, constrained sound as if he were afraid he was going to cry. ‘Spock, I _need_ you,’ he continued, very low. ‘I need you with me. Can you understand that?’

‘Of course, t’hy’la,’ he responded in an equally quiet voice, although he could not say he understood entirely. He was surely only going to be a burden at this difficult time. A hot spike of frustration rose in him, and he fought to quell it. He had been so effectively removed from use by this dark veil over his sight. Here he was holding onto Jim’s arm, having to be led everywhere. He could not help fetch or carry, he could not effectively greet or direct mourners, he could not help to carry the coffins. His only purpose was to hold Jim’s arm, and distract the human from his own duties.

‘Steps out of the house,’ Jim murmured as they walked onto the porch, pausing at the top of the flight so that Spock could feel for the first one with his foot. He recalled the steps very clearly, but Jim was so assiduous in alerting him to such things that he did not want to discourage him.

They walked across the grass to the barely perceptible hum of the air cars, which were waiting outside. Spock knew from Jim’s description that they were sleek, black as in Earth-western tradition, and would travel far slower than their optimum speed to fulfil a perceived need for respect for the dead. There were two hearse cars and one for the family behind. It was this car that they approached, and Jim carefully guided Spock up into the wide seats, which felt as if they were upholstered with leather or a leather substitute. He moved over as far as possible so that the three humans could get in, and felt for the seat belt.

‘Here, let me help you,’ Jim said, and his hands touched Spock’s, cool and reassuring. He reached across the Vulcan’s body and strapped him in. ‘Not that we’ll need them at these speeds, but – ’

‘Safety is always desirable,’ Spock finished for him. ‘Jim, am I correct in thinking we will be meeting Peter’s brothers at the church?’

‘Yes,’ Jim nodded quietly. ‘They got in a few hours ago, I think. They’ll be staying at the house tonight. Aurelan’s father’s going to stay in a hotel, though. He’s quite infirm, by all accounts.’

At that point the air car rocked again, and Spock was aware of Peter and Mrs Kirk getting into their seats. He had gained the sense that Peter had been somewhat reluctant to come to the funeral, but Jim had thought it best that his grandmother persuade him gently. Evidently her persuasion had worked, because Peter was getting into the car without argument.

The car started off slowly and gently, reinforcing Kirk’s suggestion that the belts were hardly necessary.

‘It’s about ten minutes to the church,’ Jim said. ‘It’s an old red brick place, must be at least three hundred years old. I always loved it when the sun hit it just right. It glowed, you know.’

Spock nodded, remembering that burnished glow that bricks took on in the right angle of Earth sunshine.

‘I did not know that your family was religious, Jim,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, well, we’re not, not really, but – weddings, funerals, you know how it is...’

Spock nodded, but internally he was perplexed. He did not understand the logic of clinging to a faith for key events in life when the beliefs espoused by that faith were shunned the rest of the time. Surely it was better to make the break entirely and live according to one’s own principles all the time? In the past the church had opposed same-sex relationships such as his and Jim’s. In the nearer future it had opposed unions between sentient people of different worlds.

‘And Aurelan’s family?’ he asked.

He felt Jim shrug. ‘I don’t know. It said in her will that they were to be buried together, preferably here. I’m sorry to say I never got to know Aurelan that well. Just a few Christmases and birthdays, you know.’

Spock nodded. It sounded as if Jim’s relationship with Aurelan was much like his relationship with the church, something which only materialised on special occasions. Spock settled back in his seat, closed his eyes, and set himself to cogitating this matter. The sun through the window of the air car was magnified and pleasantly warm on the side of his face, and the quiet hum of the engines was conducive to thought.

It was not, he thought, that either the church or Aurelan were unimportant to Jim. He recalled the captain’s manner with her in those brief moments when she had been conscious before her death. He had seemed familiar, concerned, even tender. He had shown appropriate grief after her death, although not at the level he had shown for his brother. Perhaps it was that both of these things, sister-in-law and church, were there in the background, always expected to be around. He called upon them at important times. Spock wondered in a brief flight of fantasy what it would be like if he and Jim decided on a human marriage. Would they both stand in the red brick church that Jim had described and be united under a god that Jim barely believed in and Spock was certain did not exist except in the minds of the faithful?

He quenched that thought immediately as he opened his eyes to the constant, blanketing blackness. How could he ever commit to a permanent relationship with such uncertainty hanging over his future? He clenched his fists unobtrusively at his sides.

Suddenly, with the plummeting of his own mental state, he became painfully aware of the emotional fog within the air car. The driver, a person he could not see and had not even heard speak, was serene, but in the back of the car emotions were spreading in a dense miasma. He could feel Jim’s most strongly because of the bond, but he was aware of Peter’s grief, sharp and angry and lost, and Mrs Kirk’s, a more muted, tired, bone-deep grief that was so strong it made Spock’s temples ache. The church would be even harder. He did not know how many people would be at the service, but an entire room full of grief-stricken humans would be almost unbearable. He was torn between strengthening his mental shields and keeping them relaxed. He would need some kind of protection against all of that emotionalism, but he also wanted to be available to Jim, and in his blind state he found it much easier to sense his surroundings if he kept a certain openness to the minds around him.

‘We’re here, Spock,’ Jim said, and Spock jerked out of his reverie. ‘You’ll be okay with mom?’

Jim had already explained to Spock that he was to be one of the coffin bearers. Spock had crushed his regret at not being able to join his bondmate in carrying his brother, but he did not trust himself, even with the obligatory anti-gravs to take the weight and the guidance of the other bearers around him.

‘I will be quite fine,’ he assured Jim. He wished that his partner would not fuss over him quite so much, but he was not sure how to address the issue without causing upset or offence. It was hard not to feel broken when he was treated as if he were. This was certainly not the time to speak of it, though. He could feel Jim’s grief like a pall.

He slid out of the car and onto what felt like gravelled ground. Mrs Kirk was crying very quietly, but she took hold of his arm, and he found he could not bring himself to correct the grip and ask her to let him take her arm instead. He could hear many other people around. There was quiet talking, some crying, and occasionally, and rather startlingly, a soft laugh. He had been right about the miasma of emotion, though. It was almost unbearable, and he shut down his shields resolutely despite the fact that it made him feel twice as blind.

‘Let’s go inside, dear,’ Mrs Kirk said, patting Spock’s hand lightly. Then she said, ‘Oh, look, Petey, there are your brothers on their way in. Do you want to – ’

Spock did not hear Peter reply, but he heard his running footsteps as he raced to catch up with his older brothers. He walked with Mrs Kirk across the gravel, and then stumbled and fell hard to his knees as his feet hit into something solid.

‘Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry, I am so sorry, Spock,’ Mrs Kirk told him, actually starting to cry aloud now. ‘There are steps. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.’

Spock was struck with a moment of strange anger that he was the one who had slammed into the ground, whose knees and palms were stinging, while Jim’s mother wept, but he pushed the feeling aside. It was irrational, completely irrational. Mrs Kirk had every right to cry, and it was his place to comfort her.

He regained his footing with alacrity. His knees had struck the sharp edge of one of the steps so hard that he feared he might be bleeding, but this was no time to check. He brushed his hand briefly over the fabric of his trousers to be sure there was no hole. At least he had not hit his head.

‘Let me take your arm, Winona,’ he said quietly. ‘That is the best method.’

‘Of course, I’m so sorry,’ she said again, putting her hand over his.

There was nothing more to say, so Spock remained silent, walking painfully up the steps a little behind her until she said, ‘This is the top,’ and the ground levelled out. They passed out of the warm sunshine into a cooler space that echoed with the noise of people’s feet and quiet chatter. It sounded like a place of flat, bare walls, and he followed Jim’s mother until she helped him into a pew, and they both sat down.

His knees throbbed, and he was rather more focussed on that than what was going on around him. Then he noticed Jim’s presence as his partner slipped in beside him and sat down. The degree of relief he felt at being reunited with him was quite improper, and he felt that odd feeling of ambivalence again over Jim’s closeness to him. Was it useful to feel such a dependence on another person? Surely he needed to have the confidence to be apart from him, just as he always had until a week ago?

Jim bumped lightly against his shoulder, and Spock reached out to touch his hand. He felt Jim’s grief again through the touch, and tried to shut down his shields against the worst of it. As someone, the preacher, he supposed, started speaking, he surreptitiously touched his fingertips to his right knee, which was the most painful, and felt dampness through the cloth. He rubbed his fingertips together and then brought them to his nose to sniff them delicately. There was the scent of blood on them.

‘Spock?’ Kirk murmured in an undertone, taking hold of his hand. ‘Is that blood?’

Spock did not reply, not wanting to interrupt the sermon. Instead he moved his hand so his fingertips were touching Jim’s and let his mind open, letting Jim see the moment when he had stumbled on the steps outside. Jim’s concern welled up, taking him away from thoughts of the service for now, and Spock felt the human’s free hand touching gently at his knees. Both were bleeding, it seemed.

_We’ll go get you some medical attention afterwards. Can you wait until afterwards?_ Jim asked in his mind.

_Affirmative_ , Spock thought. He had no intention of disrupting the service for such a minor matter.

He sat quietly through the service, standing when required, although he declined to sing since the hymns were unfamiliar and he could not read the words printed on the rustling paper that Jim held. When the service was finally over he found it a relief to get outside into the open air, where at least the emotions of all the humans present were more dissipated.

‘Look, Spock, I think we should go to a pharmacy to get something for your knees,’ Jim said to him quietly. ‘I’ll send mom and Pete on to the wake and we can catch up with them there. We can get a cab.’

‘Very well, Jim,’ Spock agreed. He knew he needed to do something to clean and cover the wounds. It was always advisable to eliminate bacteria from wounds gained on a foreign planet. Earth was not strictly foreign to him and he shared half of his genetic heritage with its people, but regardless, he had grown up on Vulcan, exposed to Vulcan bacteria and viruses, not Earth ones.

He succumbed quietly to the pharmacist’s advice and allowed Jim to carefully clean and cover the wounds, but he declined a painkiller, and got back into the cab to go to the wake as originally planned.

‘Look, I’m really sorry about this,’ Jim said to him as they sat in the cab.

‘It was not your fault, and your mother has already apologised,’ Spock said quietly. ‘It was not strictly her fault either. I did not correct her when she guided me incorrectly.’

‘I know,’ Jim murmured. ‘But I’m still sorry.’

Spock felt frustration well again. ‘Jim, it is nothing more than split skin and bruises. I have suffered far worse in the past. The fact that I cannot see does not magically magnify my injuries.’

Jim was silent for a moment, and Spock regretted his tone, afraid that he had upset his bondmate on a day which was already quite gruelling enough for him.

‘No, I know, I know,’ Jim said eventually. ‘I need to stop treating you with kid gloves. I know that, Spock. This is a learning process for me too...’

‘We will be in San Francisco soon, and I will start to learn the requisite skills for independence,’ Spock said. ‘I think that will be to the benefit of both of us. Neither of us are used to such a situation. I have been utterly dependent upon you.’

To his consternation Jim suddenly began to weep. Spock had felt a certain building of tension but he had not expected this. He sat still for a moment, constrained by the seat belt and the space between them, but then he leant forward and tapped on the glass panel which separated them from the driver.

‘Is it safe to let us out here?’ he asked.

There was a small hesitation, then the driver said, ‘Look, we’re a block away from the park. How about I drop you there?’

‘That will be satisfactory,’ Spock said.

When the cab stopped Spock got out first, listening carefully to be sure he was not in the path of traffic. He thought he was on the sidewalk. Jim stumbled out after him, and Spock heard him arranging payment with the driver.

‘God, I’m sorry, Spock,’ Jim said, coming to him as the cab pulled away. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I have heard those words frequently today when there is little need for them to be said,’ Spock pointed out. ‘Jim, I wish to comfort you but I will need your guidance to find a suitable place.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jim murmured, letting Spock take his arm. Spock could feel that the first fierceness of grief had left him somewhat and he was no longer crying audibly. ‘I’m sorry, Spock. I don’t know what that was all about...’

‘You are grieving,’ Spock reminded him in a level voice, ‘and you are doing so in a very human way. You have lost so much recently.’

‘Edith, Sam, Aurelan – and the _Enterprise_ ,’ Jim said.

‘Jim, you have not lost the _Enterprise_ ,’ Spock reminded him.

‘Not permanently, but – I don’t know, Spock. She’s _my_ ship. I hate to be away from her...’

Spock stopped walking for a moment. ‘Need I remind you that you do not have to be here on Earth for me?’

‘Dammit, Spock!’ Jim snapped, suddenly angry. ‘I _do_. I do need to be here for you. The ship needs me but you need me more.’

‘I regret being the cause of such distress,’ Spock said in a level voice, but he felt more hurt at Jim’s words than he showed. He noticed abstractedly that they were now walking along what felt like a gravel path, and he could hear trees and smell grass. They must have turned into the park.

‘Spock – Spock, I don’t mean it like that,’ Jim protested. ‘I really don’t. I _want_ to be here for you. There’s just – so _much_ at the moment. So much to think of. Sometimes I feel like – like I’m walking on solid ground and I take a step and there’s nothing. Vacuum of space underfoot, freefall to planetside, and that’s him gone – Sam gone, Edith gone – the space that they left. Do you – do you understand that, Spock? Am I making any sense?’

Spock’s brow furrowed minutely. ‘I do not precisely experience grief in metaphors, but I understand, Jim.’

‘How _do_ you experience grief?’ Jim asked curiously.

The frown deepened. ‘A void. A loss. Perhaps you are right, Jim.’

‘You’ve lost a lot too, Spock. One thing, I know – but there’s so much that goes with it.’

Jim stopped and turned to his lover, and for a moment they embraced, Jim’s hands firm on Spock’s back, his arms warm around him.

‘We need to get on to San Francisco,’ Kirk said determinedly, letting the Vulcan take his arm again. ‘I need to be working and you need to get that rehabilitation under your belt.’

‘We also need to get to the wake,’ Spock reminded him practically.

‘Well, we’re only a couple of blocks away from here, Spock. We can walk it, if your knees are all right?’

‘I am quite capable of walking,’ Spock promised.

‘Are you capable of talking with fifteen different layers of the Kirk family, various relatives of Aurelan’s, and sundry friends?’ Jim asked with a soft laugh.

‘I’m sure I will not let you down,’ Spock reassured him. ‘I have endured enough diplomatic functions on the _Enterprise_ to be able to make conversation with a considerable variety of sentient humanoids.’

Jim sighed. ‘You know, what I’d really like is just to sit down on that bench there in the sun and just talk to you, talk the day away. No more people, no more putting on a front. Just – nothing but you and me and the sky.’

‘I do find the sky rather cold,’ Spock pointed out, and Jim laughed.

‘Well, in that case, my dear hot-blooded Vulcan, I’d better get you inside – and maybe you can use your influence to keep me from any more embarrassing breakdowns. It doesn’t do my reputation as a starship captain any good at all.’

Spock continued walking with his hand loosely around Jim’s arm, gratified that he seemed to have recovered from his momentary breakdown, but concerned nonetheless. Jim had been under a tremendous amount of strain recently, and it was bound to be damaging to his fragile human mind. Perhaps once they were installed in San Francisco he could persuade him to take counselling, just to be certain that he didn’t turn in on himself and precipitate a further breakdown. Meanwhile, he would have to address his own problems with meditation and strict mental discipline. He was finding his thoughts turning to a darker direction far too often recently. No matter how much he repeated  _kaiidth_ within his own mind it was increasingly difficult to accept that what was, was. He wanted to fight against the darkness, to lash out against it, to turn away from life in his utter frustration. He could not allow that to continue.


	11. Chapter 11

Spock woke in the cool of morning, cosseted by the covers around him. It had been two days since the funerals and a large amount of the tension had left the house, as if it has been laid to rest with the bodies. That was not to say there was no grief. Spock could still feel that thick in the air, especially since Peter’s older brothers were both staying on for a while, but there was a less brittle feeling to it now. Perhaps the mourners were starting to move on.

Spock desired greatly to move on too. He and Jim were not scheduled to be in San Francisco for another week, and his course did not start until ten days from now. Still, Spock wanted to move on, to be on his own with Jim, to be actively moving towards some kind of resolution for his situation. He wanted independence again, to regain his own person.

He got up out of the bed very quietly, determined not to wake Jim. Jim had been permanently on duty as a carer for weeks now. It would do him good to sleep in.

He dressed in the clothes that Jim had diligently left out for him the night before, and walked with great care out of the bedroom. It appeared that everyone else was asleep. There was no sound from the rest of the house and he could sense no wakeful minds.

The board floor and its rugs were soft under his feet. He walked quietly to the stairs, his hand held out in front of him and feeling carefully until he found first the corner of the wall into the stairwell, and then the wooden rail that ran down the side. He went downstairs and over to the cupboard in the hall where all of the shoes were kept. Here things became a little more difficult. There were shoes belonging to Jim, shoes for Peter, for Winona Kirk, and adult male sized shoes for Peter’s older brothers too. He could feel them all lined up on the shelves in there, and he had no idea where his might be because he had not put them away. He knelt down and began to feel over the different pairs until he had narrowed it down to three. Then he began a fingertip search, and eventually picked up one pair and delicately sniffed. These were his, he was sure.

He carefully pulled on the boots, just as carefully folding down and pushing away the frustration that had risen on having to waste so much time just finding footwear that he previously would have identified with one glance. He had next to feel amongst the coats hanging up to find his. It was chilly in the house, and it would be colder outside. He judged the time to be about seven a.m.

Jim would be worried, he knew, but he also knew that if he suggested going outside alone that the captain would quickly find ten different reasons why he should not. He wanted the chance to be outside alone, and he did not want to have to argue for that right.

As he moved towards the door, reaching out, his hand clattered into what seemed to be a stand of sticks and umbrellas. At the last moment he decided to take out one of the lightweight walking poles. He knew that the blind often used canes, and this would serve a similar purpose. He had received no training, but he understood the principles, and it could not be hard to use a stick.

The door was bolted and locked, but the key, an old-fashioned metal thing that one had to turn, had been left in the lock. As he passed his hands over the door he felt the cold smoothness of a pane of glass. Was it clear or perhaps frosted or coloured as he had seen before on Earth? He would have to ask Jim. There was no _need_ to know, but there was a want.

The door open, Spock stepped out onto the boarding about the house, and then froze.

How could this feel so strange? He stood very still, the stick in one hand, listening. He could hear birds in the distance. Perhaps that meant it was light, but he could see no light. There was no difference to his eyes between being inside the shaded house and standing out in what could be the full light of day. He turned his head slowly, trying to feel any change in warmth, but there was nothing. If the sun was up, perhaps it was too early to be able to feel its warmth, or perhaps it was hidden behind clouds.

He could remember precisely what it had been like here on his few trips from the house, but his knowledge was narrowed down, a restricted path that existed only where his feet had trod. There were four steps down from this wooden veranda, and then some kind of path which gave way to grass on either side. The path, he thought, was not paved or gravelled but simply trodden earth which sometimes was re-colonised by grass. There were trees over to the right. To the left was where the air cars had waited to take them to the funeral, and also where they had been returned later that day by taxi.

He pushed the stick out ahead cautiously, and it touched the edge of the veranda just where he remembered the steps to be. He navigated the steps carefully, and found himself on the earth path. He was aware of the bulk of the house behind him, and the openness of the land before him. He had no real objective. He simply wanted to know if he were capable of being alone, of going somewhere without constantly touching another person’s arm.

He began to walk, trying to keep his pace relatively normal. He did not want to shuffle across the ground. He held the stick in front of him, occasionally tapping the end onto the ground but mostly just holding it as if in defence against solid that might be in his way. At some point he lost the path and did not regain it.

The stick clattered into something solid, and he stopped, reaching out tentatively. It felt like a fence made of wood. He supposed it would be likely that the Kirks would have a fence around the yard. Presumably there would be a gate, but was it to the left of where he stood, or the right? There seemed little way to tell except by feeling his way along. But really, did he wish to stand in the yard feeling his way along a fence just to prove to himself that he could be independent?

It was that or return to the house. He considered the position of the house behind him and its relation to the angle of the fence. The gate was most likely to be to the right, according to logic, and humans often followed a most conventional form of logic when it came to the outsides of their homes. He turned right accordingly, and after a few metres was rewarded by the introduction of a thicker post, and then what felt like a gate. He opened it and stepped through.

What would be here? Was this still the Kirks’ land or was there a public highway out here? He felt with the stick, tapping the end onto the ground. Trodden earth again, dry and hard. He walked forward until the earth broke up, rose a little, and was replaced with the hardness of some kind of metalled road surface. Now, this would be the test. He stood very still, taking in what was around him. The light sound of wind in the trees behind him. The occasional creak of some part of the house. That would be useful. Sounds of birds and animals. It all built up a picture. He needed to be able to recognise this place for his return.

He turned right, and set out along the road, walking slowly and carefully, holding the stick before him. The surface was smooth and hard under his feet and easy to walk on, but after a time he stumbled as it dropped away under his left foot and jarred his ankle.

He caught himself, and stood still for a moment, suppressing the pain in the tendon and assessing what had happened. Evidently, thinking he was walking in a straight line, he had wandered across the road and slipped off the edge. The road was raised about ten inches above the level of the land. He touched his fingers to the ground and felt hard crumbling earth, perhaps the edge of a field. He would have to be more careful. He walked back to the other side of the road, about six paces, and this time he touched the end of the walking pole to the ground, making sure as he carried on along his route that he kept checking for the side of the road with the end of the pole. The light tapping noise was one of the few sounds in this vast space.

The road continued straight and level. At one point he heard the low murmur of a vehicle which crept up on him slowly and then passed, causing a small billow of wind, before fading into the distance ahead of him. This was most probably a public road, then.

After some time he stopped walking. He had proven that he could leave the house alone and make progress outside – but progress to what end? Where was he? What had he really achieved? Perhaps a truer test would have been calling a cab and visiting the local town, perhaps visiting a shop or a cafe. But that, he knew, was something far beyond his skills at the moment, and that thought weighed on him heavily. He could walk along a road, that was true, but that was so far from a reappropriation of normal life that had he been human he would have laughed.

Suddenly he felt very far from home, if he could call Jim’s farm home. As he stood still in this black wilderness he grew aware of how very helpless he was. He could turn around and walk back along the road, and he knew approximately how far he should need to walk to get back to the house, but what skill was that? What was to his right and left? What possible chance for improvement could there be?

Something approaching fury and bitter resentment welled up in him, and he was not sure he had the will to calm it and push it away. How could his life have descended to this point, where he was walking along a level highway at the pace of a toddler and calling it an achievement? What possible future could he even consider having in Starfleet? What future did he have with Jim as his nursemaid? Perhaps it would be most logical to just continue walking along this road until he found a town with a public comm system and to arrange passage back to Vulcan and his parents’ home, and cut every tie with his previous, active, vital life. He could perhaps eventually go to Gol, rid himself of this destructive pall of emotions.

He sank down on the side of the road, holding the stick loosely between his hands, caught and cast down in this sudden mire of emotion. The idea of walking to the next town was ridiculous. This was big, open country. He might walk for miles. When he did find a town, how would he use the comm system? He was incapable of the most basic of tasks. Without Jim’s help he could not even be sure that his clothing was clean and matched.

He pressed his hands over his face, trying desperately to control these surges of negative emotion. There was little logic to these feelings. He knew that despite his feeling them. This was the voice of depression insinuating itself inside his mind.

‘Uncle Spock? Uncle Spock!’

His head jerked up. He had been so enmeshed in his own emotions that he had not even heard the boy approach, but there was only one person who would call him that. Jim had suggested it, over Spock’s objections.

‘Peter?’ he asked.

The boy’s footsteps sped up, thudding hard against the road surface. He was running, his breath coming in short pants as he got closer. When he was a few feet away, he stopped.

‘Uncle Spock, are you all right? I saw you go out of the house...’

Spock straightened up, trying to compose himself. ‘You followed me?’

‘Not right away, but I came down and you weren’t in the house and I saw your shoes were gone so I got worried...’

Spock raised an eyebrow.

‘How did you know which way I had gone?’ he asked.

‘You can see a ways along the road. It’s straight and flat.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said. He must not allow himself to feel the bitterness that threatened to rear up. He must not envy young Peter his sight. He had lost so much.

‘Are you all right, Uncle Spock?’ Peter asked again.

Spock exhaled slowly, and nodded. ‘I am – all right,’ he said, although without much conviction.

‘Yeah, and the other one’s got bells on it,’ Peter said.

‘I beg your pardon, young man?’ Spock asked, utterly bewildered, lifting his head.

He heard Peter’s feet shuffle on the ground. The boy sat down next to him on the edge of the road, not close enough to touch him, but close enough that Spock could sense his nearness.

‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it,’ Peter replied. ‘Don’t they – don’t they say that on Vulcan, sir?’

Spock immediately thought of the ceremonial Vulcan bell frames, but it did not help explain the saying.

‘They do not say that on Vulcan,’ he affirmed.

‘It means – aww, I guess it means I think you’re kidding. I asked you if you were all right and you said yes, but I don’t think you’re telling the truth, not for a moment, Uncle Spock.’

‘Vulcans do not lie,’ Spock said.

‘You can pull the other one on that, too. I know that’s not true.’

Spock sighed at this young child’s perception. ‘You are right, it is not true. I am not _all right_. But there is little that either one of us can do to remedy the situation, so there is little point in discussing it.’

‘Uncle Jim says talking can cure most anything. Grandma does too.’

A powerful and inexplicable wave of fear passed through Spock before he could combat it. Here he was, far away from Jim’s home, he knew not where, just him and this young boy. He could not hear the wind catching in trees or on buildings. The world around him was quite beyond his reach.

He caught that fear and managed it with some effort.

‘Talking does not cure blindness,’ Spock said.

‘Talking doesn’t bring people back to life either,’ Peter said, his voice a little lower, sounding weary. ‘But – gee, Uncle Spock, it did help some. I talked a lot to grandma and I talked a lot to Uncle Jim and I talked a lot more to my big brothers when they came, and I feel better, a bit. I really do.’

‘Peter – ’ Spock began. He had been about to say, _My case is different,_ but how could he say that to a boy of this age, a boy who had been bereaved of both parents and transported to another world? No one that Spock knew had died in the last weeks. His case was entirely different, but he could not measure his own grief against Peter’s.

‘What, Uncle Spock?’ Peter asked.

Spock shook his head. ‘I imagine you must have felt lost on arriving here on Earth,’ he said quietly.

‘Yeah, a bit, I guess,’ Peter replied. ‘I – guess you feel lost too, don’t you?’

Spock was not sure how to reply. It was very far from his habit to talk about his feelings, but he also did not want to rebuff this young man who was reaching out to him at such a difficult time in his own life.

‘Yes,’ he said simply after a while. ‘Yes, I do feel lost.’

‘Do you want me to take you home?’

Spock allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch at the simplicity of Peter’s solution. He stretched out his legs, flexing his sore ankle,  and then stood up. He stepped back up onto the hard road surface  and stood there .  The darkness felt very complete.

‘That would be very kind of you,’ he said graciously.

Peter hesitated. ‘Uh. Do you need to – ’

‘Just walk with me,’ Spock assured him.

He touched the end of the stick to the ground, and began to walk. Peter fell in step alongside him, walking protectively on the outside of the road, nearest to the ragged edge.  They walked in silence, but after a while Peter said, ‘There’s another house over there, far out across the fields. Looks old. It’s a board house like grandma’s.’ He was quiet again, then said, ‘That field over there’s not ploughed up. There are animals on it. I think they might be cows. I haven’t seen cows in real life before.’

Spock walked on and let the boy prattle, soaking up his naïve descriptions of the country through which they passed. Meanwhile, the rest of his thoughts wandered, now he did not have to focus so intently on where he was and in which direction he was travelling.

Peter’s hand touched his arm. ‘Sir. Uncle Spock.’

He turned distractedly towards the boy. ‘What is it, Peter?’

‘You’re not quite straight, sir,’ he said, sounding embarrassed.

‘Ah,’ Spock replied, and let Peter turn him back in the right direction.

He fell back into his thoughts as Peter continued to talk about the surrounding countryside. He wondered if Jim had woken up yet, if he were worried. If he were awake he would be bound to be worrying. Spock did not want to constantly be a source of worry and concern. He frowned slightly, wondering if there were any way he could persuade Jim to return to the ship, to stay away until he had – if he could – recovered his independence and skills. But – he did not want to be away from Jim. He needed him, not because of Spock’s many incapabilities at this time, but because Jim created the whole that Spock had been searching for all his life. He did not want to spend his evenings alone, to wake up alone, to eat alone. He had done that for long enough. He simply wanted this intolerable situation to be gone, to have some measure of independence, to be able to restore his relationship with Jim to normal.

‘Peter, are we close to the house?’ he asked.

‘Uh – yeah, pretty close,’ the boy replied. ‘Hey, I think Uncle Jim’s looking for you. He’s in the front yard.’

Spock caught it then, a feeling of tension and anxiety like the smell of venom in the air. He reached out to his partner’s mind, trying to impart a sense of reassurance. There was a moment of confusion, and then their thoughts touched, meshed, and he felt Jim’s slacken and settle closer to calm.  He kept projecting wordless thoughts of reassurance as Peter started telling him how far they were from the house, and he heard then Jim’s footsteps coming towards them in a light jog.

‘D’you think we’re in trouble, Uncle Spock?’ Peter asked in a quiet voice.

Spock raised an eyebrow, momentarily inwardly amused at that thought.

‘I have no doubt, Peter,’ he said. ‘But there is no need to concern yourself. We have done nothing wrong, and I will explain just so to your uncle.’


	12. Chapter 12

‘Spock, where the hell did you go?’ Jim asked as soon as he reached the Vulcan and his young nephew. ‘Peter, what were you thinking taking him – ’

Spock interrupted immediately. ‘Peter took me nowhere, Jim. I went alone. Peter came after me. I am an adult, and as such – ’

Jim’s concern was such that it had erupted into a fierce anger that seemed to fill the air around them. ‘Spock, for God’s sake, you’re _blind_ , you’re not capable – ’

Spock interrupted in a level, hard tone that would have reduced most ensigns on the _Enterprise_ to rubble.

‘Jim, I am neither a child nor mentally deficient. If I wish to go for a walk alone at any time of day I shall do so, without seeking permission or advice from you or anyone else. I am not under your command here, and – ’

‘Listen, Spock,’ Kirk cut across again, then he hesitated, and Spock could feel his self consciousness. ‘Pete, go into the house,’ Jim said in a voice that demanded obedience. Spock heard the boy hurry away as Jim took hold of his elbow and nudged him forward. Spock walked with him, aware that something was about to explode and quite conscious that neither of them wanted to be in proximity of the house when it happened. The ground was quite level, thankfully, for Jim was pulling him angrily, not guiding him, until they had passed through the trees and out the other side. Spock’s sense of helplessness and repressed anger only increased each time he stumbled and floundered on the uneven ground and Jim caught him and kept him upright.

‘Look, Mister, I don’t care if we’re on the ship, on Earth, on Vulcan,’ Jim snapped as soon as they were through the trees. ‘You can’t just disappear off like that. I woke up and you were gone, you weren’t in the house. You didn’t even have a comm. _Anything_ could have happened.’

Spock kept his voice very level to counter Jim’s anger. ‘Anything could not have happened. I went for a walk along a straight, flat road. I have never heard that this is a particularly dangerous area of your country.’

‘That’s not the _point_ ,’ Jim almost shouted.

‘ _Captain_ ,’ Spock snapped, his own voice rising now as he stepped away from Jim’s hand. ‘Jim, if you continue to treat me in this way I will not permit you to stay with me in San Francisco. I will not return to the _Enterprise_. Do you understand this? Do you understand that you cannot hover over me as if I were a fragile infant, make my decisions for me, shelter me from every perceived harm? It is insupportable to live in this way. I cannot, and should not be expected to, endure it.’

‘Spock, you’re _blind_ ,’ Jim tried again, his voice beginning to crack now as a softer kind of emotion broke through.

‘ _Yes_ , Jim,’ Spock returned. Jim’s own grief softened his anger for a moment. ‘But I am still Spock. I am still everything that I was before.’

‘God, Spock, this is so hard,’ Jim said, his voice plaintive as he turned away.

Fury welled up in Spock then, uncontrolled, billowing out, travelling at warp speed and consuming everything in its path.

‘This is hard for _you_? It is hard for _you_?’ His fists were clenched. He wanted to hit or to stride away but he was paralysed by his uncertainty of where he was. His voice had risen into a sharp and rasping cry of anger. ‘I have been told I will never see again. My career in ruins. My life derailed. Everything you take for granted ripped away. And this is hard for _you_?’

He did walk then, striding away, finding earth that was clumped and uneven under his feet, knowing he was likely walking straight across a newly growing crop but not caring, just wanting to be alone, to be utterly without witness to this terrible display.

Jim had no problem catching up with him. He caught him from behind, twisting him around, shaking him. Spock’s feet stumbled on the ridged earth and he fell, landing with his face against rich dirt. The scent that rose around him reminded him forcibly of the hydroponics bay on the ship, setting off a chain remembrance of the corridors, the labs, the bridge, of all that he had lost. He could feel slim wisps of leaves under his hands like sparse grass and he grasped at them, ripped at them in his anger, flinging a handful of leaves, dirt, and pebbles across the ground.

‘Leave me,’ he growled. ‘Find yourself another Edith. Find yourself a perfect woman with perfect eyes. There is no need for you to chain yourself to this useless carcass.’

Jim was down next to him on the ground, half over him, his arm coming across Spock’s back and holding him so tightly that it was hard to breathe. The human shook the Vulcan, turned him over, lay over him. His breath was hot and near Spock’s face. His anger and shock and grief were palpable.

‘I don’t _want_ Edith, dammit. I don’t _want_ a perfect woman. I want _you_ , Spock. _You._ ’

‘I am never going to see again,’ Spock retorted, ‘and you treat me as if I were capable of nothing, as if I never will be capable.’

‘No, Spock,’ Jim crooned, his voice becoming quieter now, softer. A hand touched Spock’s cheek, stroked dirt from his face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know this is hardest on you. I know it’s devastating. I shouldn’t have said that it was hard for me.’

‘It _is_ hard for you,’ Spock insisted, understanding the truth of that. It would be hard for him if Jim had suddenly been struck blind. He exhaled a long breath. His head was lying back on the dirt. He would have been looking up at the sky. He could feel the sun on his face, and yet there was nothing, no sliver of light entering his useless eyes. ‘It is hard for you, and that is why it would be best for us to part. For you to go back to the ship. For me to – ’

And there he faltered. There again he was against the stone wall, thinking, _What can I do? Where can I go?_ It was as useless as his attempt to walk away from Jim a few minutes ago. Again and again he came up against his inabilities, and failed.

‘ _No_ ,’ Jim said with vehemence. ‘No, Spock, I won’t go. I will – ’ He drew in breath, swallowed. His weight shifted and he was no long lying half over Spock but beside him instead. ‘I will try to do better, Spock. That’s all I can promise. To do better.’

Spock closed his eyes, feeling the uneven ground surface underneath him, pressing along his spine and the backs of his legs. The ground was cold. He recalled the whole nightmare of the past month, the arrival at Deneva, Jim’s dead brother, the sting and then terrible, terrible pain of the creature’s attack. Surgery, unconsciousness, waking to agony. A week of pure agony under rigid control, and then – this. The light building to an unbearable point and then darkness settling which had never gone away. It felt like drowning. He felt as if he had been sucked under water by currents and there was no escape.

‘I – ’ he began, but he was not sure how to finish the sentence.

‘What, Spock?’ Jim asked after a moment of silence.

Spock almost reached out to his mind, but he stopped himself. He could not inflict that on Jim at this moment. There was too much in there that would distress him.

‘I am not sure that I can do better,’ he said after a long time.

‘Wait, Spock,’ Jim said softly, stroking his hand against the Vulcan’s face again. ‘Promise me that you will wait until you’ve started your training. No life decisions, no assumptions that you’ll never be useful again. Just wait a while. Will you promise that? You can’t possibly assess your feelings and your future at this point.’

‘No,’ Spock said quietly, closing his eyes. ‘No, I know.’

‘Logic is your friend, Spock. You know that. When have you ever started on a new course in life without having to learn as you did it? You didn’t step onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_ as the best first officer in the fleet, did you?’

‘No,’ Spock said, remembering the years of learning, training, mistakes and successes one after another. Jim was right, of course, but logic seemed very far away.

‘Do you know that we’re lying in the middle of one of mom’s wheat fields?’ Jim asked after a while.

‘I suspected as much,’ Spock nodded. ‘I trust we have not done too much damage.’

‘Not too much,’ Jim assured him.

They were quiet again, and then Jim touched his lips to Spock’s cheek and said, ‘I’m sorry, Spock. I’m sorry for overreacting, over-protecting.’

Spock curled his fingers around Jim’s and gave them a light squeeze. ‘I am sorry for giving in to emotion and despair.’

He could tell that Jim didn’t know what to say to that. They had spoken enough about emotion.

‘Jim, would you take me home?’ Spock asked.

Together they stood up and Jim spent some moments brushing dirt from their clothes and skin.

‘Mom’ll think we’ve be making love in her cornfield,’ he said with half a laugh.

‘If she has spoken to Peter I very much doubt she will believe that,’ Spock countered.

‘Well, maybe not. Now, do you want me to – ’

‘I _do_ need you to help me,’ Spock nodded, understanding Jim’s hesitancy.

Together they walked out of the field, and Spock felt that perhaps a corner had been turned in their relationship. He had felt that something had broken, that they had both been floundering since his blinding, and that this crisis might precipitate them back to something more as it used to be between them.

((O))

Later that day Spock sat in the farmhouse in the quiet afternoon, eyes closed and head resting against the soft high back of his armchair. Peter had been taken by his brothers to the local fun park for some light relief, and Jim had promised to take the strain off his mother and make dinner that evening, a real dinner prepared from fresh ingredients. Since Spock did not believe he could help he chose to sit with Winona in the sitting room. Perhaps aware that he had little to occupy him she had put music on, and they sat largely without speaking. Spock recognised Brahms, and relaxed into the depths of the composition, recalling the finger presses of that particular piece as if he had a piano in front of him. It had been a long time since he had been fortunate enough to be somewhere with a piano, and suddenly he wondered if it would be possible to hire one while he and Jim were settled in San Francisco.

He began to drift into a comfortable vision of the day stretching ahead in the apartment that Jim had already arranged, long evenings together in peace and quiet with no company but their own. Life very rarely ran to schedule on a starship, and although he would not choose these circumstances it would be pleasant to be stationary and on a fixed schedule for a while.

‘Life’s hard for you and Jim at the moment, isn’t it?’ Winona asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Spock blinked and turned toward her voice. ‘It it not the easiest time,’ he nodded, unwilling to express exactly how difficult things were. After the resolution of their argument in the field he felt rather easier about his relationship, but he knew that there were sure to still be difficulties to come.

‘It’s cut Jim up very badly losing his big brother, you know. I think it’s brought back memories of losing – When we lost George, Jim’s father, it was very hard for him.’

‘I imagine it must have been hard for the entire family,’ Spock said, although he was unwilling to delve into what must be a very emotional subject for Jim’s mother.

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘Yes, of course it was. I – I – maybe I can be glad that George didn't have to live through losing his eldest son, but – ’

Spock thought that was poor compensation for what had happened, but said nothing.

She was silent for a spell and the music flowed through the room. Then she said, ‘Spock, I don’t know if I will ever be able to express my gratitude to you for what you went through to develop and test the cure for that terrible parasite infection. I lost Sam and Aurelan but I will thank God every day that I didn’t lose Peter too.’

Spock lifted an eyebrow, curious and somewhat nettled that Mrs Kirk should credit a mythical deity for what was in fact the result of extremely hard work by actual living beings.

‘God was not a factor in the cure, Mrs Kirk,’ he said quite seriously. ‘The captain, Dr McCoy, and I, along with a large proportion of the medical and science staff, spent a good many hours researching methods which might kill the parasite infection. Finally Jim was struck with the thought that perhaps light alone might be fatal to the parasite. So, you see, it was actually your son who saved your nephew’s life.’

‘Thank God is just an expression,’ Winona said, and Spock thought she was smiling. ‘I know I should be thanking science, and humans and Vulcans. But Jim didn’t tell me that he realised it was light that you needed to use?’

‘The captain is typically modest,’ Spock commented. ‘It took, perhaps, an unscientific mind to consider an option that had not previously been considered.’

‘But it was _you_ who went into that test cubicle,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes,’ Spock said pensively. ‘I had very little choice.’

He did not like to think of that moment of haste, in which his judgement had been so clouded that he had not been able to wait for the first test results. There were too many _if_ s surrounding what had happened for him to be able to recall it with any comfort. He folded his hands together in his lap, thinking instead about Jim, about how difficult this time truly must be for him. Even at the best of times, even when everything was well, Jim hated to be away from the ship. He had given up much to be here on Earth with Spock.

‘You will take care of him, won’t you, Spock?’ Winona asked quietly.

Spock almost started, struck by the novelty of anyone in recent weeks crediting him with any responsibility. It was, perhaps, not the kind of responsibility to which he was used, but for Jim’s mother to be entrusting the care of her son to him touched him profoundly.

‘I will endeavour to do my utmost,’ he promised gravely. He stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, Mrs Kirk,’ he said, nodding his head to her.

‘Oh, of course,’ she said.

Again Spock was gratified that she did not jump up and offer help. She stayed sitting as the classical music swelled through the room, and Spock discreetly held out one hand and found his way over to the door, noticing the sounds of the floorboards creaking under his feet, the scent changing as he moved from sitting room to hall, the echoes becoming a little stronger as he passed into a space with fewer soft furnishings. All of these things built up a picture, and he was learning to see that picture more clearly every day.

He went to the kitchen and stood in the doorway for a moment, listening. Jim was humming quietly to himself. He was not moving around but seemed stationary. The noises indicated that he was chopping something. Spock wondered if he were wearing an apron, perhaps something feminine belonging to his mother. He wondered how his hands would look, one curled over the knife, the other holding whatever he was cutting – a vegetable, he thought, by the crisp sound. He wondered if Jim’s hair had lightened in response to time spent under a real sun, if he were wearing jeans or something more modern, if he had a shirt that was open at the neck showing a flash of chest, or one of those very slick tops that were so in fashion that came high up the neck and had no openings. The emotion that welled in him was not as sharp edged as frustration. It was more a soft and sad regret that these simple things were lost to him. The sight of Jim’s knuckles. The back of his neck. The varied colours of his human hair.

He walked into the room with care and up to the sounds of humming and cutting, and gently slipped his arms around Jim’s waist from behind, resting his head lightly on Jim's shoulder in the crook of his neck. He could feel Jim sensing his quiet sadness. The human laid the knife down then turned around and cupped a hand to his face and kissed him gently. Then he put his arms around the Vulcan and just held him in silence, imparting wordless support and comfort for a grief that was not mentioned and did not need to be.

‘I love you, Spock,’ he said.

‘T’hy’la,’ Spock responded, knowing that would say it all.

He moved his hands discreetly to feel what Jim was wearing. A hand on the hip told him the fabric was denim. The top felt like cotton, and was loose.

‘Retro jeans and a button up shirt,’ Jim said, understanding what Spock was doing. ‘The jeans are quite a dark blue, the shirt is orange with fuchsia panels. Oh, and mom’s white apron over the top. My shirt sleeves are rolled up. I’m not wearing shoes or socks.’

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock said. He had a vision of Jim’s bare feet in his mind that he found endearing. He would have to take care not to stand on his toes in his booted feet. ‘What are you cutting?’

‘Carrots at the moment. I’ve been putting off doing the onions. They get in my eyes so badly.’

Spock’s mouth twitched in a nascent smile. ‘Let me do the onions,’ he said. ‘They do not affect me.’

The hesitation was infinitesimal. ‘Thank you, Spock,’ Jim said. He moved sideways, gently nudging the Vulcan forward. ‘The board is here,’ he said, putting Spock’s hand to it. ‘Here’s the knife and the onions. Two should be enough. The peels can – You know what, Spock, just put the peel aside and I’ll throw it away. The chopped onion needs to go in this pan here,’ he said, taking Spock’s hand again and touching his fingers to the cold of metal just behind the chopping board. ‘I’ve got some garlic that needs peeling and chopping too.’

Spock nodded, picking up the first onion and feeling its round, heavy form, and the papery skin that covered the flesh beneath. Perhaps Jim would worry about him cutting himself, but Spock did not. He was quite aware of where his hands were and the dimensions of the onion, and he carefully felt the blade of the knife to familiarise himself with its shape.

For a moment Jim stood close to him as Spock sliced the ends off the onions and began to peel off the skin. Spock did not feel that he was under scrutiny, just that Jim was close and loving and standing there because he liked to be near him, just as they did so often on the bridge when Spock did not need to be at his sensors or Jim did not need to be in the captain’s chair.

Jim came a little closer and laid his hands over Spock’s from behind, kissing the back of his neck. ‘Thank you, Spock,’ he said, making him pause for a moment in his chopping. ‘You know, it’s nice being at home for a while, but I can’t wait until we’re settled in San Francisco, together and alone. We’ve never had that. You can never really feel alone on the _Enterprise._ It’s like having an extended family of four hundred thirty around you.’

‘You are quite right,’ Spock replied. He gently eased his hands out from under Jim’s and continued chopping, not wanting to be distracted, but Jim was right. San Francisco would spell out a new chapter for both him and Jim, and he had to believe that it would be a positive one.


	13. Chapter 13

San Francisco

 

The apartment was close enough to the ocean to hear the waves and the screams of gulls. The scent of salt and sea-life were thick whenever the windows were open to the air, and other sounds drifted in too; the casual sounds of a place considered warm by its inhabitants; occasional shouting in happiness or anger, the acceleration of air and ground cars, the barking of dogs or a surge of music from a passing vehicle.

The apartment seemed to be a comfortable place, well furnished, small and all on one level, but for now to Spock all it was was yet another space that he had to get to know. He had adjusted to the cramped quarters on the ferry to Earth. He had adjusted to Winona Kirk’s house and surroundings. Now he needed to learn the dimensions and contents of one bedroom, one bathroom, a spacious living area, and a kitchen to one side, plus a small storage room for coats and various sundries. It was a wearisome business. Spock was no stranger to diligent investigation, but it was usually in areas rather more fascinating than the layout and contents of a simple apartment.

The apartment was on the second floor of the building, and there was a balcony which Kirk assured him had a beautiful view of the ocean. In the evening the sun set, Jim told him, over the water in a blazing spread of pinks and golds. In the morning the waves crashed onto brown sands while joggers and dog-walkers enjoyed the peace and the sky moved from pink and gold to eggshell to brilliant blue. Spock understood all of this. He had seen it before. He wished he could see it now, no matter how illogical it was to wish.

This morning Jim was not standing at the window describing things for Spock. Spock’s first day at the rehabilitation centre was today. The administration had tried to persuade him to take up residence in the building, but Spock had been deeply reluctant to do so, citing the Vulcan need of privacy as an excuse. It was true that he did not wish to be forced to share a room and all his meals with unknown humans, but the deeper truth was that he did not wish to be separated from one particular human at this time. The clinching argument was that in order to meditate Spock needed to be able to light an uncontained flame. Even though he could no longer see such a flame he could focus onto its heat and the scent of the burning incense, and meditation was vital for him at this time. Under no circumstances could uncontained flames be allowed in sleeping quarters, and so Spock gained the special privilege of boarding away from the rehabilitation centre on religious grounds.

He had heard the mutter of the centre clerk quite clearly before the communication had been fully cut. _Damn, but Vulcans are weird._

He did not care if the human staff of the facility thought that Vulcans were ‘weird’. He would be staying with Jim, and that was what counted.

‘You’ll be okay today?’ Jim fussed about him, putting down crockery onto the table where Spock sat. Spock could feel Jim’s nervousness. On the same day that Spock was starting at the rehabilitation centre, Jim was presenting at Starfleet Headquarters to take up his ground job.

‘I will be surrounded by individuals who are quite experienced dealing with the blind,’ Spock reminded his partner. ‘I cannot imagine a place better suited.’

‘I guess not,’ Jim said, seating himself opposite the Vulcan. ‘Your coffee’s here,’ he said, taking Spock’s hand and moving it toward the cup. ‘Toast on the plate in front of you. You’re sure you don’t want anything else?’

‘I am quite sure,’ Spock nodded, catching Jim’s fingers before his could move them away and stroking across the back of his hand. He felt the cuff of Jim’s top. A uniform shirt with braid on the sleeve. Jim was back in command gold. The knowledge pleased him. He himself was wearing a dark and largely featureless suit which Jim had described as making him look ‘hot as sin.’ He would have rather been wearing his blue science uniform, though.

‘We need to be gone in – oh – ten minutes,’ Jim said, and Spock knew he was looking at a chronometer. ‘I’ve ordered a cab. I’m going to try to get hold of an air car later. It’ll be more convenient.’

‘Of course,’ Spock nodded. Jim had already told him all of this. He was repeating himself because he was nervous, but Spock was not sure if the nerves were for himself or Spock.

In ten minutes time Spock was quite ready to leave the apartment, while Jim was still fussing around looking for things he needed to take.

‘Damn, the coats must be somewhere – ’ he was muttering.

‘In the cloakroom,’ Spock suggested.

He stood waiting near the door while Jim moved around like a minor whirlwind. After a few moments the captain was putting a coat over Spock’s shoulders, saying, ‘It’s drizzling out there and the mist’s in well. You’ll be cold otherwise.’

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock said patiently, pushing his arms into the coat. ‘I think I hear the cab.’

‘Yeah, it’s out there. Well, come on,’ he said, letting Spock take his arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

He guided Spock with great care down the stairs and the short path outside to the cab. Spock tried to impart a sense of calm reassurance into his lover’s mind. He was certain that he himself would be fine, and that Jim would be too.

‘You know what it’s like meeting Fleet top brass,’ Jim muttered.

‘Yes, I do,’ Spock said tolerantly.

When the cab drew up to the rehabilitation institution Jim helped Spock diligently from the car and up to the door. Spock could somehow _feel_ the size of the building before him. Perhaps it was the echoes he could sense, intimating a large façade. He had a fleeting memory of this place from his years at the Academy since he had walked past a number of times, but he had never scrutinised it, certainly never thought that one day he might be attending. In his memory it was a wide white façade with many windows, but he remembered little else.

‘Ah, Commander Spock,’ a female voice said as Jim took him in through the doors. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

‘Obviously, since I was scheduled to attend at this time,’ Spock replied in a level voice.

Jim sent him wordless reassurance. McCoy would say that he was being ‘extra-Vulcan’ in response to stress, and perhaps he would be right.

The footsteps that came across the floor were loud and clacking. A hard floor and perhaps high-heeled shoes, a most illogical species of footwear.

‘I am Linda Alcott, Mr Spock,’ the woman said. Her voice was warm and she smelt lightly of a flowery perfume. Spock judged that with the heels she was about the same height as he was. ‘I’ve spoken to you on the comm. I’ll be your personal liaison all through your time here. You’ll have a number of instructors, but if you need anything you come straight back to me, okay?’

Spock nodded. ‘Good morning, Ms Alcott,’ he said, and she laughed lightly.

‘You can call me Linda,’ she replied, ‘although I’ll assume it’s Spock for formal and Spock for casual with you, yes?’

‘Quite correct,’ Spock nodded.

There was a brief hesitation, then the woman said, ‘Captain Kirk, I can get Mr Spock all booked in. He’s in my hands now.’

‘Oh, I – ’

Spock could feel Jim’s reluctance to leave.

‘I will be quite fine, Captain,’ he assured him.

Jim touched a hand to his back firmly, foregoing any kind of intimacy in front of this stranger for Spock’s sake.

‘I will be here to pick you up as soon as you call,’ he promised.

‘It’s going to be a long day this first day,’ Linda Alcott warned him.

‘Any time you call, Spock,’ Kirk assured him.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ Spock replied.

Then Jim was gone, and Spock was left with the human woman in an unknown space.

Immediately he felt a degree of uncertainty settle on him. Logically this woman was perfectly proficient at aiding the blind, and logically this was a safe place. Nevertheless, it disconcerted him to be without the Captain in a place he did not know while he was unable to see.

‘I’m sure you’re nervous, Mr Spock,’ Linda Alcott began.

‘I am Vulcan,’ Spock countered.

‘I know. We’ve had Vulcans through these doors before – and I’m sure you’re nervous,’ she replied with something that may have been a mixture of humour and sympathy.

Spock did not argue any more. He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement.

‘You have a lot to learn, but I know that Vulcans are excellent learners with highly developed senses, so you have that in your favour,’ Alcott continued. ‘I also know that Vulcans find any weakness extremely difficult, even if they cover up their responses with logic. Am I correct?’

‘Ms Alcott, it would be more appropriate to have this discussion in a private area,’ Spock said, conscious that they were not alone in this lobby or whatever the invisible room was.

‘Why don’t you take my arm, Mr Spock? I saw when you came in that you’ve got that technique down well.’

‘It is not the most complicated of techniques to manage,’ Spock reminded her.

‘You’d be surprised,’ she said with grim humour. ‘Come on, we’ll go to a private room and I’ll get all the paperwork out of the way, and then we can start you on this course. And believe me, when it’s over you’ll have a completely different view of your life as a visually impaired individual. You will have regained a good measure of independence, you’ll have basic life skills under your belt, you’ll be able to read and write again and operate adapted technology. The first thing you’ll want to start using is a cane.’

 ((O))

Jim had little reason to feel nervous about his own first day, but he was. Perhaps the knowledge that Spock was going through his own kind of nervousness was affecting him. Perhaps it was because he was used to being at the top of the chain of command on his ship and it unsettled him to visit headquarters and be one of the lower ranking officers on duty. Either way, he felt a degree of nervousness as he entered Command Headquarters and made his way up to Admiral Williams’ office.

He entered the outer office and Williams’ blond secretary smiled up at him.

‘Captain Kirk,’ he said, standing up and extending a hand. ‘The Admiral’s ready for you, sir, if you want to go in.’

Kirk glanced at the door that the secretary nodded toward, took a deep breath, and entered. Admiral Williams was sitting behind her desk, a stout, dark woman who looked quite capable of taking on hordes of assassins or spies if necessary.

‘Captain,’ she said with a broad smile, standing and reaching out an exquisitely manicured hand. ‘It’s good to meet you after all this time. I’ve heard good things about you. Lucky you were available to take this posting.’

‘Well, personal circumstances – ’ Kirk began, and the woman’s face clouded.

‘Yes, I heard all about the Deneva incident. Bad show, wasn’t it? I hear you lost a relative.’

‘My brother and his wife,’ Jim nodded tightly. He did not want to talk about Sam.

‘And Commander Spock lost his sight,’ Admiral Williams continued.

‘Yes,’ Kirk said, looking down briefly. He wondered how Spock were doing. Obviously he could not have been with him today, and Spock would not have wanted him to be, but he disliked being apart from him at such an important time.

‘I – understand your relationship with your first is more than professional,’ Williams probed gently.

Jim looked up and met her eye. He had been determined ever since this relationship began to face any criticisms of it straight on and with dignity.

‘Yes, it is more than professional,’ he nodded. ‘But we have never let it interfere with our duty.’

‘Of course not,’ Williams said in a mollifying tone. ‘But I understand that the primary reason you came to Earth was to be with your partner during rehabilitation training. I want to be sure you’ll give full attention to the job here.’

‘I will perform just as I would on the _Enterprise_ ,’ Kirk said, not without pride. ‘I will perform my duty to the fullest of my abilities.’

‘Good,’ Williams nodded. ‘Well,’ she said, her tone suddenly changing. ‘Sit down, Kirk. Sit down. Let’s get down to the details of this thing.’ She pressed a button on her desk and called, ‘Summers, bring two cups of coffee. Black?’ she asked questioningly of Kirk, then at his nod repeated, ‘Black,’ through the intercom.

‘The details were very light when the job came through subspace,’ Kirk began, taking a chair and drawing it a little closer to the desk.

‘Necessarily so,’ she nodded. ‘This kind of thing has to be kept very close to the chest. That’s why we contacted you primarily instead of putting the thing out to general tender through the organisation. We need a specific person for this job, Captain. A man with long experience of various alien races, of making the best in emergency conditions, thinking on his feet.’

‘And you thought I was best for the job,’ Kirk nodded, then asked penetratingly, ‘Why? Most starship personnel of a certain rank would fit that bill.’

Williams looked him directly in the eye. ‘Because we have reason to believe that the suspects are Vulcan.’

Jim almost pushed his chair back in shock. ‘Vulcan? _Vulcan?_ ’

‘I’m sure you can understand why we reached out to you, Captain.’

‘Well,’ Jim began, frankly puzzled. ‘You know, the _Intrepid_ has a crew composed entirely of Vulcans, and there are plenty of other Vulcans in the fleet. Why not one of – ’

‘After the captain of the _Intrepid_ your Commander Spock is the highest ranking Vulcan in the fleet, alongside his counterpart on the _Intrepid._ We wanted someone of a decent rank, and the _Intrepid_ captain would not have been available. But that wasn’t our only reasoning. We picked you precisely because you are _not_ Vulcan,’ Williams told him patiently. ‘You won’t have the same loyalties that our Vulcan officers have. Vulcans are notoriously reticent to involve themselves in anything that might suggest a strain of illogic or passion running through their people. However, you have had plenty of involvement with the Vulcans. You _are_ involved with a Vulcan and you have served with him for a long time. He is your closest advisor and confidante.’

Kirk smiled suddenly, ‘Admiral, are you trying to tell me that you haven’t hired me. You’ve hired _Spock_?’

She smiled in reply. ‘Not exactly, Captain. Of course we couldn’t hire Mr Spock directly at this time. He’s on extended medical leave and it’s not yet certain that he’ll be able to return to Starfleet in the same capacity as before. But it is true, is it not, that you have a rather unique understanding of the Vulcan mind?’

Jim shifted his gaze over the various data discs lying on the desk, thinking pensively about Spock and his current situation. Was it fair to involve him in this even in an ancillary way? Did he not have enough on his plate? Or would, perhaps, the Vulcan be glad of the opportunity to be vital within Starfleet again?

‘Yes, I guess I do have a unique understanding,’ he nodded. ‘But let me understand you, Admiral. You’re not bringing Spock in on this?’

‘If you wanted to keep everything from him – although from what I understand about Vulcan relationships I imagine that might be difficult – that’s completely up to you, Kirk,’ she told him. ‘I can’t requisition Commander Spock and I don’t want to requisition Commander Spock. But if you believe he can be of help you have full permission to disclose details of this case to him, provided they go no further.’

‘All right,’ Kirk murmured. ‘That’s good. I will take him into my confidence, of course. As you say, it’s hard not to.’

The door slid open and the young blond secretary came in carrying a tray with two coffees, and also two elaborately curled Danish pastries.

‘Ah, thank you, Summers,’ Williams smiled up at him as he put the tray on the desk. ‘Not regulation, I know, Kirk,’ she said, nodding at the tray as the secretary left the room. ‘My personal health advisor would have a fit.’

‘As would mine,’ Jim murmured, remembering the last time he had reached for something of the sort on board ship and McCoy had reminded him tartly that he had agreed to try for a two pound loss over a six week period. If Bones had been aware of just what he had been eating back on the farm for the past few weeks he would suffered apoplexy. ‘Well, what they don’t know can’t hurt them,’ he said, picking up the closest pastry. Flakes showered from his fingers onto his clothes, and he brushed them off in embarrassment.

‘There’s no way to eat one of these with decorum,’ Williams reassured him, showering herself with a good amount of pastry as she picked up her own. ‘But now we have fuel, let’s get down to it, Captain Kirk. Let’s talk about these Vulcans.’

  



	14. Chapter 14

[A.N. Sorry this chapter took so long. It flowed like granite. I hope it doesn’t show too much.]

  


Spock felt tired and frustrated, but he hid those emotions beneath a veneer of calm. He had very quickly mastered the rudiments of cane use but Ms Alcott had assured him that although he felt moderately confident with the instrument he still had a lot to learn. So far his brief training with the cane had been confined to a relatively small room with a maze of desks which Ms Alcott had told him was a classroom, but further training would take place outside and on the streets of San Francisco. The cane would not warn him, Ms Alcott was careful to remind him, of overhanging trees or plants, signs, or any other obstacle above waist height that had thoughtlessly been left by the general populace.

Ms Alcott had read a schedule to him, which he had committed to memory, which contained things he had barely thought of attempting. Cooking, preparing hot drinks, and cleaning, all tasks which he rarely had to perform on board ship but which he could easily have carried out before the Deneva incident. Writing within a frame, learning to read and write Braille, use a tactile comm device and an echo device which would help him to build up an image of his surroundings. He would learn how to use adapted tactile and audio computers. In anticipation of his return to some sort of duty with Starfleet he would be shown how to use adapted tricorders and other vital equipment. He would be taught how to go shopping, how to groom himself and dress himself successfully, how to participate in various leisure activities. Until he had come to this place he had not realised just how very incompetent he was for normal life. Jim had sheltered him thoroughly.

‘Are you with me, Spock?’ Ms Alcott asked.

Spock turned toward her. ‘With you, Ms Alcott? I am approximately thirty centimetres away from you.’

She laughed quietly. ‘Metaphorically – and please call me Linda.’

‘Linda,’ Spock nodded.

‘I wondered if you were listening to me, Spock. You seemed miles away.’

Spock immediately lifted his head and attempted to look more focussed. It was true that he had not been listening attentively, but he had been aware of everything that she had said.

‘You were speaking of tomorrow’s schedule and your intention for us to go outside so that you can teach me techniques for judging traffic flow by sound,’ he said promptly.

‘I was,’ she replied, and he could hear her smile, ‘but I still don’t think you were totally with me. We’re almost at the end, so would you like a coffee? It’s been a long day with a lot of theory, and I know that can be mind-numbing to take in.’

‘As a research scientist I am quite used to theory,’ Spock corrected her. ‘However, I would welcome coffee.’

Her chair scraped back as she stood.

‘Let me have your partner’s contact details and I’ll put a call through so you can let him know we’re almost finished here,’ she told him. ‘Tomorrow we’ll look at non-converted comm devices and how you can use them without sight so that even if you’re without a personal comm you should be able to call anyone you need.’

‘The captain’s personal comm number is 07632 502 4921,’ Spock said promptly. He touched his pocket where his own comm was. Jim had insisted on getting him one as soon as they arrived in the city, reasoning that even if he could not use it, he could probably find someone who could help him. He took the small device out of his pocket. Unlike a Starfleet communicator, which he could simply flip open and activate by voice, this one had an entirely smooth screen which told him nothing.

‘I have a comm,’ he said, holding it out. ‘It is not locked, and his is the only number in it.’

‘That’s great,’ she replied, taking it from him. ‘While you’re talking to him I’ll get that coffee. Black?’

‘Black,’ Spock confirmed.

He listened as she activated the comm and then took it from her. As she left the room Jim answered.

‘Captain,’ Spock said, aware that Jim might not be alone. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

‘Not at all, I’m at the apartment,’ Jim replied quickly. Spock felt warmth grow at his voice. ‘Are you all done, Spock? Need a ride?’

‘Yes, we are almost finished,’ Spock replied.

‘Well, I hired us a car on the way back from Headquarters. I can be round in about fifteen minutes. Is that okay?’

‘That should be just fine, Jim,’ Spock assured him. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll see you then,’ Jim said. ‘Bye, Spock.’

Spock realised that he did not know how to end the call. The touchscreen on the comm was featureless under his fingers. He sat with the device in his palm, and while he was cogitating he heard Ms Alcott return.

‘Ms Alcott, could you cut the call?’ he asked as she put the coffee down in front of him.

‘Oh, sure,’ she replied quickly, taking the comm from him. ‘There you go,’ she said, returning it. ‘I think it would be a very good idea to look into adapted comms tomorrow, wouldn’t it?’

‘Evidently,’ Spock nodded with a slight frown. It was undeniably frustrating to need help even to make and end a call.

‘The first day’s always hard,’ she assured him in a rather softer voice. ‘But you’ll come back tomorrow and things will seem easier. I’m not saying it’ll get easier hand over fist every day. Some days you’ll feel back at square one, some days will be very hard. One day you might have a leap forward, only to have a difficult time the next. But you will see a gradual improvement.’

((O))

Spock walked down the path from the rehabilitation centre holding Jim’s arm, but he also held his newly selected cane in his hand, using it to sweep the ground before him. Ms Alcott had instructed him to practise at every opportunity, and he had no intention of discarding the device. It was a revelation to hold it out in front of him and be warned of changes in the ground surface, and objects before him. The stick was composed of such a fabric as would flawlessly transmit vibrations to the handle, giving him a sensitivity to surface texture that had he had never experienced before.

‘That’s wonderful, Spock,’ Jim told him as they reached the hired car and Spock found the kerb before Jim had mentioned it. ‘God, it makes such a difference.’

‘That is certainly true,’ Spock nodded, although he still felt intensely _blind_ as he climbed into the unfamiliar car feeling for the roof so that he did not hit his head, and for the seat before him. Jim still had to help him with the seat belt because he could not feel it to his side, nor could he find the place for the buckle to lock into.

‘You know, Spock, I’m starving,’ Jim said as he got into the driver’s seat. ‘How about a good meal out to celebrate first days?’

‘Food is food,’ Spock said rather distractedly as the air car rose up off the ground. The car would only travel at a maximum of two feet off the ground, but he had never been quite certain of Jim’s piloting skills for anything smaller than a Fleet standard shuttle. He tended to become wooed by speed and performance when the vehicle in question was small and not owned by Starfleet.

‘Relax, Spock, you look like I’ve got you on a roller coaster,’ Jim urged him. ‘Yes, I know food is food, but some food is better food. I want to talk to you about everything I went through with Admiral Williams today. It was – fascinating – to employ your terminology.’

‘Then surely a discreet location would be best?’ Spock asked. He did not want to say so directly, but he felt he would much rather return to the apartment, which was at least growing familiar to him, than experience another totally new environment this evening.

‘There’s the beauty of it, Spock,’ Jim said, and Spock could hear his smile. ‘We’ll go to ’Fleet Club. I haven’t been there since I was – god, I must have been in my twenties. We’ll get a private room and we can talk in complete confidence, but we’ll order up from the restaurant. You know, I get captains’ privilege there now. That’s something I’ve never made the most of.’

‘’Fleet Club,’ Spock murmured, discreetly pushing his hand against the side of the car as Jim turned a tight corner.

He had not stepped foot in the Starfleet Officers’ Club since he was twenty, and then it had only been at the insistence of his human companions. Doubtless the place had changed greatly since then, and he was no long in the company of five frankly adolescent-minded humans, but his memories of the club were centred around a dark bar vibrating with the heavy beat of popular music so loud that his ears rang, and of bodies thronging so close and carelessly that his psychic shields were assailed constantly.

‘Private room, Spock,’ Jim reminded him as if he had sensed Spock’s thoughts. ‘Captains’ privilege, remember?’

‘Yes,’ Spock said, relaxing somewhat. Vulcans did not over-indulge with food and alcohol as a method of celebration, but he was content to accede to Jim’s human need to do so. ‘Yes, of course. You are right.’

((O))

To Spock’s ears the ’Fleet Club seemed no different to his youthful experiences. Jim wanted a drink in the bar for old times’ sake and Spock did not want to deny him, so they had made their way inside. The music was loud and resonated through every surface, travelling up through the bar on which Spock’s arms were resting, through his arm bones and directly up into his jaw and skull. The music carried human-audible frequencies but also a fair few frequencies designed only to reach alien ears, and Spock for once wished for the dull hearing of his mother’s species. The air stank of alcohol and bar snacks and human odours and nullified tobacco. The place was a Babel of speech and he could hear fifteen distinct conversations that he rather wished he couldn’t. Five of them were discussing him, evidently unaware of the sensitivity of Vulcan hearing.

‘What, that’s Spock of the _Enterprise_? Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, and Captain Kirk with him. You know they’re banging each other, right?’

‘No. No! Really? God, what I’d give to – ’

Another conversation. ‘What’s wrong with him? I hadn’t heard anything was wrong with him. Is he blind? Had you heard he was blind?’

He heard the murmured word, _Deneva_.

Spock sipped at his drink and tried to tune out the conversations, but he found that now he replied so heavily on his hearing it was hard to do. Jim was engrossed in conversation with an old friend, a discussion which Spock had little interest in and found it hard to engage with when lacking the normal visual cues of conversation. He had thought himself perfectly able to come here and have dinner, but he had not reckoned on how tired he would feel after a day of intense concentration and learning.

‘Are you okay, Spock?’ Jim asked him after a while.

Spock put his drink down and cocked his head to one side. ‘Where is your friend, Jim?’

‘Jack? He had to leave. He said bye. Didn’t you hear?’

Spock shook his head wordlessly. Jim seemed to make up his mind suddenly, and his drink clattered on the bar.

‘Come on, Spock. Let’s go up to that private room and get dinner.’

‘That would be very welcome,’ Spock said without exaggeration.

He took Jim’s arm to follow him out of the bar, grateful to be leaving this raucous and youth-oriented space for the calm quiet of the corridors beyond, where the space smelt of recycled air and carpet cleaner, and reminded him with a curious degree of nostalgia of the _Enterprise_. They were in officers’ territory now.

‘You should have said you weren’t comfortable in the bar,’ Jim said after a moment.

‘I understand the human need to indulge nostalgia,’ Spock countered. ‘I saw no reason to deny you your fun.’

Jim stood very still in the corridor. Spock stood with him, wondering why he had suddenly frozen.

‘Look, Spock,’ he said eventually. ‘Let’s just go back to the apartment. I’ll order take out. We can lie on the couch in our underwear if we want, or eat in bed, or whatever. I know it’s been a hard day for you and I shouldn’t have suggested coming out here. I guess you’re right about nostalgia. That and that I forget how different things are now.’

Spock parted his lips as if to speak, but was not sure what to say. He did not want to admit how different things were. Before Deneva he would have been perfectly able to stay at Jim’s side all night through any number of unpleasant, highly social human interactions. Now he craved the familiarity, such as it was, of the apartment that he was growing used to rather than yet another new space. No matter how little he wanted to admit that change, it _was_ there.

‘No,’ he said firmly, startling even himself. This was something he had to force himself to do, to act as he always had, to continue in his life. What logic was there in giving way to feelings of helplessness or frustration? That would not help him move forward. ‘No,’ he said a little more softly. ‘We will do that tomorrow. Tonight we are here and we shall have dinner here as you planned.’

Jim leaned close to him in the deserted corridor to kiss him. Spock was momentarily taken by surprise. Jim so rarely became effusive with his affection in a public space. But this time the kiss deepened, Jim’s hand rested on the back of his head, his fingertips ruffling his hair, his tongue slipped between Spock’s teeth, and Spock suddenly felt enlivened.

‘Hey, get a room, guys!’

The pair broke apart, startled. Spock had noticed no one entering the corridor, but he felt Jim’s relaxed reaction to the newcomer.

‘Already got one, Bob,’ he said. ‘But thanks for the advice. What are you doing planetside, anyway? Given up the _Constitution_ and decided to pilot a desk?’

By that Spock was given to understand that this was Commodore Robert Wesley of the _Constitution,_ and he was grateful for Jim’s covert way of letting him know that.

‘Between us, Jim, Command’s been talking about giving me the _Lexington_ ,’ Wesley said in a confidential voice.

Jim laughed, and Spock waited politely for the conversation to end. There was a moment of slightly awkward silence, and then Wesley said, ‘Commander Spock, may I express my sympathy – ’

‘Thank you, Commodore,’ Spock nodded stiffly before he could finish his sentence, acutely aware of his own hand on Jim’s arm and the cane in the other. Human effusions of sympathy made him uncomfortable because he rarely knew how to respond.

‘Well, Bob, we’d better get on,’ Jim said, sounding apologetic. Spock felt that he had smothered Jim’s human social interactions all over again.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Jim murmured to him as they carried on down the corridor, and Spock felt that warmth again at Jim’s effortless knowledge of how he had felt. ‘I’d far rather spend my evening with you than any amount of old friends. There. Here we are,’ he interrupted himself, taking Spock in through a door. A scent of old wood and mock-leather filled the air. Despite the relative warmth outside a fire crackled in the air conditioned room. ‘You ever been in one of these rooms, Spock?’ Jim asked.

‘I have never had the occasion.’

‘Cosy. Real fire. Leather sofa and two wing-backed chairs around a low table facing it. A couple of bookshelves with real books. They really pushed the boat out to get a proper old world atmosphere. Nothing of the twenty-third century here.’

‘The twenty-third century is usually more convenient,’ Spock pointed out.

Jim laughed. ‘They do have some twenty-third century conveniences in here. They have comms so we can order our food. Let’s get sat down and we can work out what to eat.’

((O))

Jim leant back in his chair and regarded Spock. The Vulcan was sitting on the sofa, very upright, but he looked considerably happier than he had earlier – as happy as a Vulcan could look. His face had a little more colour, the lines about his mouth were more relaxed. Before them on the table were two plates that were almost empty of food. Soft music spilled from concealed speakers, and the fire crackled warmly.

‘So, tell me, Spock, was that a good idea?’ he asked in satisfaction.

Spock nodded his head minutely. ‘It was a good idea, Jim,’ he said.

Jim moved from the chair to beside Spock on the wide sofa, sliding across the cushions until he was touching him.

‘Full privacy lock too, Spock,’ he said in a seductive voice, nudging his shoulder against Spock’s.

Spock stiffened a little, obviously unwilling to engage in anything romantic in this situation. No matter about the full privacy lock. The door was thin protection between them and the outside world.

‘Jim, you intended to tell me about your meeting today,’ Spock reminded him.

‘Ah, yes,’ Jim said, the romantic thoughts dying away. ‘You’re right, Spock.’

He straightened up a little, and picked up his glass of proper old Scotch whisky, turning it in his hands. Spock’s own drink was untouched. Jim had been considering ordering dessert to share with the Vulcan, perhaps getting something chocolatey, but perhaps he’d leave it until after they spoken.

‘I won’t go into everything in full depth,’ he began, ‘but it sounds like there’s something threaded deep into the fabric of Starfleet. A plot to destabilise the fleet from within so as to give Vulcan a concrete reason for bailing out.’

Spock stiffened at that. Jim felt his surprise, although none showed on his face.

‘Vulcan, Jim?’ he asked, one eyebrow raised.

‘You heard right, Spock. You know certain sections of Vulcan society have always been uncomfortable in their alliance with the more emotional peoples of the quadrant. You know there’s a strong protectionist movement who are afraid – ’ He registered Spock’s discomfort at that word, and cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. Who are _concerned_ about the pollution of Vulcan traditions and ways of life.’

‘I am aware of that,’ Spock said doubtfully, ‘but to plot interference by subterfuge at the heart of Starfleet is – it is un-Vulcan.’

Jim leaned a little closer to him. ‘Spock, I have learned through long observation that many Vulcans are, at their core, _very_ Vulcan – about as passionate and emotional as a being can be.’

He felt Spock react with awkwardness again.

‘Tell me it’s not true, Spock. Tell me that the fundament of each Vulcan’s nature is not deeply rooted in passion.’

‘It is true that there are certain constants which unite us all,’ Spock said rather reluctantly, ‘and that many of the ancient traditions were founded before Surak brought his message of logic and peace.’

‘And it’s perfectly believable that a Vulcan might carry out such an action if it seemed the only logical way to secure their aims – yes?’

Again Spock hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, that is true.’

‘Perhaps it’s beside the point, anyway, Spock,’ Jim conceded. ‘The question is not whether Vulcans are capable of such things. The issue is that they _are_ involved. There’s concrete intelligence to that effect. What complicates matters is that they seem to be using other races as intermediaries.’

Spock appeared to ponder that. ‘Do you know which other races?’

‘Not yet, Spock. I need to find out. At first that means a lot of drudgery – a hell of a lot. There are thousands of Starfleet personnel files to go through, histories to track, allegiances to discover.’

‘I may be able to formulate a computer algorithm which would considerably reduce those numbers,’ Spock began. ‘If, of course, I am permitted access to the data.’

Jim grinned at the light that was beginning to creep into the Vulcan's face. Spock had felt useless for too long.

‘Yes, Admiral Williams specifically told me to allow you full access.’

Then a slight frown touched his forehead. ‘I do not know, of course, how I will access the data and make the necessary programming without sight.’

Jim put a hand over his. ‘I have complete faith in you, Spock. Speak to your rehabilitation officer tomorrow. Ask her about accessible computers and the necessary training. I can’t bring in another computer expert on this. My hands are tied. Can’t trust anyone within the organisation. Can’t hire anyone from outside.’

‘I shall ask,’ Spock said, his voice enlivened again. ‘Yes, I am sure Ms Alcott could help.’

Jim slipped an arm about his shoulders, then turned to the Vulcan to kiss him warmly and deeply. He was gratified that this time Spock showed no hesitation in his response.

‘You know, I was thinking of ordering dessert,’ Jim said, ‘but how about we grab something on the way back to eat at home? Good idea?’

He let his feelings of love and sexual attraction spill into Spock’s mind, and felt the Vulcan begin to respond.

‘Yes,’ Spock said, his voice roughened and deepened with need. ‘Yes, Jim, that would be a very good idea.’


	15. Chapter 15

As Jim closed the door of the apartment the world of the city seemed to melt away. All of the sounds of outside were cut out by the sound-proof windows and there was no longer an audible thud of music, no longer the sound of an un-neutered cat wailing on the street, no longer the sound of traffic.

‘Want a window open, Spock, or do you want it quiet?’ he asked.

Spock turned an ear toward the window, and Jim wondered if he could in fact still hear traces of the outside world in a way a human could not hope to.

‘I would rather quiet, I think,’ he replied. ‘And if you could increase the heating by a small amount?’

Jim laughed. It was already warm in the room, but nothing near Vulcan levels.

‘Vulcan normal?’ he asked.

Spock shook his head. He was navigating carefully across the room with the new cane, and Jim was fascinated to watch him as he approached the sofa and the cane lightly butted into it, enabling him to carefully walk around it and sit down.

‘No, only a few degrees warmer. It would be too difficult for us both to acclimatise to such variation with the natural temperatures outside.’

‘Well, I’ll turn the heating up, then I’ll go make some coffee and we can have that dessert,’ Jim smiled. He knew that the rich, chocolatey dessert would affect Spock, and Spock knew that too, but he had not objected.

Spock stretched his legs out and felt over the side table for the remote control for the telescreen. Jim went through into the kitchen area, pleased at the amount of relaxation his partner was showing as he turned on the screen and began to flick through the channels. As Jim filled and switched on the coffee maker he watched Spock. The Vulcan’s ear was turned slightly towards the screen, but to all appearances he could have been watching it. He flicked through a variety of channels, listening intently, before finding a news channel and stopping to hear the bulletins. Jim watched idly himself, taking in a story about protests in Nigeria, another about crop failures in the southern states, something about an explosion on a Constitution class starship that briefly galvanised both him and the Vulcan until they were certain that it had not affected anyone they knew. There was the usual round-up of stories from around the Federation, and then the reports turned to sport and weather, and Spock switched the screen off.

Jim poured coffee into two mugs and brought them over.

‘Coffee’s on the side table,’ he said, putting it down.

Something lurched in him as he watched Spock feeling for the mug. He had not experienced so many of those sudden surges of pain recently, but sometimes it caught him. How Spock was changed... He did not want to pity him. He was determined not to pity him. But wasn’t this lurching of sorrow in his gut a kind of pity?

He clenched down on the feeling before Spock could sense it. It was funny how a relationship with a Vulcan taught him to control his emotions, while Spock opened up to some emotions he never would have admitted before. He turned back to the kitchen counter to pick up the two plates of Mississippi mud pie he had put out, and brought them over.

‘You seem pensive, Jim,’ Spock said as he sat.

‘Oh, not pensive. Tired,’ he lied. ‘Here. Here’s your dessert.’

He touched the plate against Spock’s hand, and the Vulcan put his coffee down to take the plate.

‘There’s a fork on it,’ Jim told him.

He concentrated on his own plate rather than watching Spock eat. It was too easy to watch him and build up emotions that he had no business feeling. Spock needed to regain his independence, not be pitied and helped at every turn. So he turned to his own pile of cream and chocolate and thought about what Bones would say if he turned in a diet sheet for today. To hell with it, though. He was allowed to splurge every now and then.

‘You know, it’s not fair that you never put an ounce of fat on,’ he complained to Spock.

Spock’s eyebrow arched. He had chocolate on his lip, and Jim had the urge to lick it off.

‘My metabolism is significantly different than yours,’ Spock said. ‘It is neither fair nor unfair. It simply is.’

Jim could not resist. He leaned in toward Spock and let his tongue flicker over the chocolate-anointed lip.

‘You know, you’re tasty for a man with a significantly different metabolism,’ he said in a low murmur.

‘Neither am I a man,’ Spock responded lightly.

Jim grinned. ‘You have everything you need to count for one in my book, Mr Spock.’

Spock was obviously attempting to keep his dignity and not respond to the very human teasing. He brought the final forkful of the pie to his mouth and ate it, then felt delicately over the plate with the fork to see that there was none left.

‘This dessert was a paramount idea, Jim,’ he said.

‘I agree,’ Jim said, taking the plate and putting it aside. He could feel Spock relaxing in a way he rarely did, and he was certain that the Vulcan needed that after his long first day of rehabilitation. He could already see a difference in him for this small amount of training, but he knew that Spock felt conflicted in many ways he would not admit over this first day, and he could do with just forgetting it all for a bit.

‘I’ve been giving your computer database some thought,’ Spock began.

Jim touched a finger to his lips to silence him. ‘No, not tonight, Spock. Don’t give anything any thought tonight.’

He slipped his fingers just under the edge of the neckline of Spock’s shirt and traced his fingertips across the naked skin. Spock gave an almost imperceptible sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in a tacit assent to Jim’s advances. Jim smiled and continued the slow movements, stroking along his collarbones and the soft vulnerability of his neck. Spock seemed utterly relaxed, for the first time in some days. His hands fell open, his head lay back against the sofa cushions, his knees dropped apart.

Jim took great pleasure in undressing the still and unresisting body before him until Spock was quite nude on the sofa, his coffee quite forgotten. The Vulcan seemed perfectly content to be still and quiet as Jim laid kisses upon his body and his chocolate-tasting lips, and stroked his hands over his naked flesh, until he trailed his fingers down through the spidering hair on his chest and belly and then down into the darkest curls between his legs. Then the Vulcan moaned lightly, moving his hips as Jim’s hand came firmly round the stiffening penis and stroked along it.

Jim knelt before him, leaning closer until his breath billowed warm and moist over the tumescent organ. Spock gasped, his lips parted, his eyes fluttered half-open, and as Jim’s mouth descended over his hardness his fingers clenched on the sofa cushions.

Jim found it hard to keep from moaning himself. It was odd what a sparking delight he could feel in the pit of his stomach at giving Spock such pleasure. The organ was hot in his mouth, so hard beneath the velvet skim of skin as he enveloped it, pushing his mouth down until Spock’s tip was touching the back of his throat, one hand wrapped around the base to give it extra stimulation as he lapped and pummelled with his tongue. He could feel Spock’s desire building, his body coming alive, and he moved his mouth faster, harder, compressing the rod of flesh, teasing at the cool crinkled skin of his balls with his other hand, drifting his fingertips over the clenched stomach muscles and then moving both hands to slip them between Spock and the cushions, grasping a buttock in each hand and pushing Spock’s hips forward as he drove his mouth down.

The Vulcan began to buck, pushing hard into Jim’s willing gape, thrusting rhythmically, soft grunts leaving his mouth each time he pushed home. Jim could taste the pre-come, salty and slipping on his tongue. His own erection pressed hard against the fabric of his clothes, but he was not ready for that yet. For now he just wanted to give Spock pleasure, and he let the Vulcan lose himself entirely, pushing without thought into the warm space that let him satiate his lust. To sense no thoughts from Spock was almost unprecedented, but right now all Jim could feel was a sense of physical joy that lifted the human up to a peak of happiness too.

Spock’s thrusts increased, his breath was coming in sharp, hard gasps, his hands were on Jim’s head, clenched in his hair, pushing his head down as he lifted his hips up to thrust. Moans escaped him, and then he stiffened, his hips lifted up off the cushions, the hardness in Jim’s mouth jerking as thick fluid was jetted against the back of his throat. Then Spock settled back onto the sofa, limp on the cushions.

The flesh in Jim’s mouth softened and he let it slip out between his lips. He sat with his head between Spock’s knees and swallowed what had been left in his mouth, then took a mouthful of his coffee.

‘Well, Mr Spock,’ he murmured with a smile.

Spock favoured him with a half-smile of his own, his head resting against the cushions, his eyes closed.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ he said.

‘You’re all politeness,’ Jim laughed.

He sat for a while with his head tilted sideways, resting on Spock’s knee, his eyes on the damp nestled organ between his legs which was still flushed with blood. He loved to look at him when he was like that, satiated and resting. But there was need deep in his own loins still, his own erection still hard against his clothes.

‘I am perfectly open to you, Jim,’ Spock said, obviously picking up on his desire. He lifted his head, opened his eyes. The blind man was revealed to Jim again, and that lurch happened in his gut. This time, after their intimacy, he could not keep it concealed.

‘Oh, Spock...’ he whispered.

Spock’s face hardened suddenly as he caught Jim’s feelings. He sat up straight, naked but stiffened with anger that blazed through him. Jim could not feel where it was directed or what was its source, but he could feel it, strong and hot and consuming.

‘No, Jim,’ he said. ‘ _No_. I will not let this come between us at this moment. I _am_ a man in your colloquial sense. My sight has no bearing on that.’

He grasped Jim by the shoulders, stroking his hands through his hair, feeling over his clothes before beginning to strip them off the lithe human body, driven by some kind of furious determination. Once Jim was nude he pushed him back to the thick pile rug on the floor, coming over him, pinning his wrists to the ground, kissing his chest, the pert nipples, the flat, muscular stomach, and finally the arching, needful erection that reared proudly from bronze curls.

He brought his face very close to Jim’s then, kissed him, biting loosely at his lip, and coffee and chocolate and the taste of Spock’s seed mingled in their mouths.

Spock withdrew from the kiss and held Jim there, his face only inches from Jim’s.

‘You will treat me as a man. You will treat me as the man that you chose above all others.’

Jim looked into the eyes with their odd, veiled off pupils. Spock’s face was the same. His lips were the same. The way his fringe fell down over his forehead was the same. His ears still had their graceful points, his eyelashes were still dark and long. Even the irides of his eyes were no different – still a dark chocolate laced with darker flame. When Spock’s lips parted to take in breath the glimpse of his teeth and tongue had not changed.

He wrenched his wrist from under Spock’s gripping hand and curled it behind the Vulcan’s head, drawing him down to kiss him again. A flame lit in his belly and grew stronger. Spock had allowed himself to come down closer, the heat of his bare legs and torso pressing against Jim’s cooler skin, the soft and still damp bundle between his legs touching Jim’s stiff erection and beginning to stiffen in response. The need that clenched in his pelvis was overwhelming. _Treat me as the man that you chose above all others,_ Spock had said. Well, then, he would.

With a growl he pulled his other arm free and caught Spock by the wrists, knowing that Spock had twice his strength and could only be dominated if he wanted to be. He rolled the Vulcan over toward the fireplace, which was cleaned and unlit at this time of year. Never mind. He didn’t need fur rugs and burning fires. There was enough burning between the two of them.

Now he was on top, and he pressed Spock’s wrists to the rug as Spock had his, leaning low to kiss him hard and long. He grabbed the bottle of oil that he had brought over earlier and poured a little into his palm, then sat back and slicked it over his own yearning organ, throwing his head back briefly at the feeling of the self-stimulation. In the past Spock had been pushed to the edge by such displays, but now he waited, still on the rug, his arms resting limply by his head, unable to see Jim’s hands stroking his own rearing erection. Jim gently nudged his legs apart, just sitting for a moment and gazing at the hardened, proud penis with its flaring mushroom head, the soft, cool testes, the broad and velvet perineum leading to the clean clenched muscle beneath. Then he let the oil trickle down so that it seeped into that puckered dimple, and stroked a finger down in its slippery trail. Spock gasped and arched, and Jim smiled, easing first one finger, then two into the tight, hot opening while he stroked at the Vulcan’s hot erection with the other hand.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He set himself over the Vulcan, positioned the soft tip of his erection, eased it in through the tight hole until the resistance was gone, and he slipped inside. The gratification was instant as the heat of Spock’s body wrapped around him and he thrust in until he was buried deep in the Vulcan’s body.

‘Oh, god... Oh, god, Spock,’ he murmured, leaning down to press his cheek against Spock’s warm chest.

‘I am no deity,’ Spock replied, but his voice was half-choked through the pleasure he was experiencing.

‘You’re wrong,’ Jim said, withdrawing again, pushing forward again. ‘You’re my god, my saviour, my life.’

‘And you my light,’ Spock replied, one hand reaching up to touch Jim’s shoulder, to stroke across his neck and back. ‘Don’t talk. Come to me, my light, my life...’

He stroked his hand to Jim’s face, pressed his fingertips hard, once, into the meld points at cheek and temple, and then let his hand fall. The rush of shared emotion was almost overwhelming, but Jim had grown more used to it in their months together. He let Spock carry him on a wave of passion and built on it with his own, thrusting hard into Spock’s body, letting his belly press over Spock’s erection and feeling Spock’s spiking pleasure along with his own. Was that his shaft or Spock’s where that feeling was blossoming? Was that his or Spock’s prostate that was coming alive with each smooth glide? It didn’t matter, their minds were one, the fire was building, building, every nerve alight, every thought whiting out to nothing.

His body melted away to one point of pleasure, and then exploded, and he found himself lying over Spock, gasping in breath, his head against Spock’s head, unaccountable tears running down his cheeks. Then he realised the tears were on Spock’s cheeks too, and he pressed his palm against them.

‘Spock?’ he asked tenderly, wiping the tears away.

‘For a moment, through your mind, I saw,’ Spock said simply. ‘I must not allow that to happen again.’

‘Oh, Spock...’ He buried his face against the side of Spock’s, filled with a sadness that might not have been entirely his own. ‘Don’t cut yourself off from me,’ he begged

‘I will not,’ Spock assured him, ‘but I must not allow myself to see through your eyes. It is – too much. It is darkest when one has just turned out the light. Do you understand that, Jim?’

‘Yes,’ Jim said. ‘Yes, of course I understand.’ He kissed the Vulcan on his cheek, shoulder, chest as he sat up, then took his hand. ‘Come on, let’s get cleaned up.’

((O))

Later they walked along the beach in the semi-darkness, Spock with his arm linked through Jim’s, trusting that the sand was level. Neither had felt sleepy after their evening exertions, although it was almost midnight, and it was Spock who had suggested the night-time walk. Jim had taken him up on the offer eagerly.

Off to the right waves shushed gently onto the sand. To the left were the sounds of the city, occasional music thumping, and still the sound of air cars and ground cars trundling by. Spock was able to sense much more, and described it to Jim – the scent of a barbecue somewhere further up the beach, alcohol drifting on the wind, footsteps in the streets, a dog barking far away. Jim did not envy him his heightened Vulcan senses, though, for he could see the stars and the waves.

‘Thank you for suggesting this, Spock,’ he said, linking his arm a bit more snugly with the Vulcan’s.

He could feel the lightness of Spock’s mood. The Vulcan had made an effort to discipline his emotions after that glimpse of sight he had gained from his lover’s mind, and seemed all the better for the catharsis of those unusual tears. Now he was quite content to walk in his darkness while Jim walked under the light of the crescent moon and the pinpoint stars.

‘I think I see spacedock catching the sun,’ Jim said, as always caught in wonder at the glimpse of the brightly lit thing outside Earth’s atmosphere. Close up it resembled a mechanical Christmas tree, but from this distance, far up in its high geostationary orbit of Earth, it was a smudge of glittering light against the black sky.

‘You miss space,’ Spock commented.

‘So do you,’ Kirk returned. ‘But it doesn’t matter. We’ll be back there soon enough. It’s good to have time on Earth. Besides, I promised mom we’d be there for Sunday dinner next weekend to see how she and Petey are doing. I can’t do that from the _Enterprise_.’

‘This is an invaluable opportunity,’ Spock nodded.

Somewhere above in the darkness a gull cried, and the waves broke again on the shore. The sand slipped around Jim’s feet and he wished he could take his shoes off and feel it over his toes.

‘You know, we should come down here one weekend and just stay all day. You could build a sandcastle, Spock,’ he said mischievously.

He knew that Spock’s eyebrow was gracefully rising, even though he could not see it.

‘I see no logical purpose in constructing a fortress from loose sand,’ Spock replied.

‘Because it’s _fun_ , Spock,’ he told him. ‘It’s fun.’

‘Ah,’ Spock said, and the deep resonance of his voice made something jump in Jim’s abdomen. ‘Perhaps for fun I might spend time cogitating your work problem and formulating a useful computer algorithm.’

Jim looked sideways at the Vulcan’s silhouette against the dark sky and sea. ‘Somehow, Mr Spock, I think you’re already working on that one.’

‘A possibility,’ was all that Spock would admit to. ‘I would suggest returning to our lodgings now, Jim,’ he continued with a slight note of regret. ‘It is late and we both must be awake on time in the morning. I want to take particular care to ask Ms Alcott about accessible computers.’

‘Do I need to be worried about this Ms Alcott, Spock?’ Jim asked playfully. ‘She’s a rather attractive woman.’

‘Something that you have noticed and that I was not aware of,’ Spock pointed out tartly. ‘Perhaps it is I who should be worried?’

Jim leaned close to kiss him. ‘I don’t think either of us need to be worried, Spock,’ he said. ‘I think we’re both perfectly happy where we are. Come on, my lovely Vulcan. Let’s turn around.’

He turned on his heel, guiding Spock, and started to head on a diagonal course back along the beach and up towards the Great Highway, where cars still swooshed to and fro despite the late hour. He briefly recalled Spock’s venture out along along the road back at mom’s farm in Iowa, and experienced a moment of worry at the thought of him trying something similar here. But he had to trust Spock. He was being taught how to navigate, how to be aware of and deal with traffic. Spock may fiercely prize his independence, but he was not stupid.

  



	16. Chapter 16

There was still a chill in the air from the fog that Ms Alcott had described as rolling in from the sea like an octopus earlier. It was sunny now, apparently. Spock could feel the sun on his face, but there was still a lingering cold from that damp sea mist. Spock could not visualise it as an octopus and did not see the logic in comparing a common meteorological phenomenon with such a creature, but he thought Jim might be pleased by the comparison so he stored it in his mind to share later.

‘That’s it, just like this,’ Ms Alcott said, changing the position of his hand a little on the cane so that he held it at a rather shallower angle.

He needed to focus and pull his mind away from Jim, who by now was no doubt ensconced in his temporary office going through the details of the case he was working on. Sexual contact was highly pleasant, but he did find it distracting for some time afterwards to experience such a strong mental bond.

He was outside with Ms Alcott today as she taught him the perils of navigating in the streets, and techniques for managing as safely as was possible. He felt relatively confident while holding her arm, but now he was walking without the benefit of her guidance, stroking the cane across the surface of the sidewalk and trying to stay aware of all of the varied noises around him that would help him create a mental map of his surroundings. At the moment the sounds felt like an audible soup, but she reassured him that he would grow better at separating and understanding the sounds.

It was frustrating to have to be concentrating on this right now instead of the more vital problem of rogue Vulcan agents attempting to damage Starfleet, but he would have to clamp down on the distraction of that problem, the distraction of Jim’s mind in his, the distraction of his irritation at the restrictive darkness that always threatened to bloom into something which his mother would have described as a full-on Vulcan temper tantrum.

‘All right, Spock, you’re coming toward the crossing,’ Ms Alcott told him.

Her voice was reassuringly close behind him. He nodded his head, and carried on walking.

‘Focus on what you can hear,’ she said. ‘Is there anything that tells you where the crossing is?’

He paused on the hard sidewalk, cocking his head a little. He could hear other pedestrians walking parallel to the direction of the road, most of them giving him a relatively wide berth in understanding of what he was doing. For now he was wearing a high-visibility vest over his clothing. He could hear the traffic to his right and the clattering sounds of a café of some sort to his left. But there was something else. The occasional pause in those footsteps about five yards in front of him, as if there were a reason to stop. He could hear the traffic slowing a little, and then a clear beeping noise and the traffic coming to a complete halt.

‘The traffic has stopped,’ he said. ‘The crossing alarm. The footsteps of the pedestrians falters near the crossing and sounds different on the tactile strip. Once the traffic stops they move across the road.’

‘That’s excellent,’ she told him, and he felt briefly like a dog being trained. ‘Most humans I help wouldn’t be able to pick out things like that without a fair bit of practice. You’re blessed with those Vulcan ears, Spock.’

‘My Vulcan ears are a natural result of my Vulcan genetics,’ Spock pointed out, but he was pleased all the same.

‘All right, now I want you to continue toward the crossing. When you find it you’re going to need to look for the push button on the pole at the side.’

Spock nodded and continued to walk forward, listening attentively to the sounds of the pedestrians and the traffic. The cane jarred a little on an uneven surface, and when he stepped forward he could feel small, hard bumps through the soles of his shoes of a type that he had seen and felt before on Earth, but never taken much notice of.

‘There’s the tactile strip,’ Ms Alcott said, coming to stand beside him. ‘Now the button?’

To find the button he assumed he would have to move closer to the edge of the road, but he was confident that tactile paving would warn him of the edge. He stepped forward and then moved sideways, reaching out, trying to discern if there were any people in the way. There seemed to be no one, and after a moment the cane struck against ringing metal, and he found the unit with the button a little above waist height. After a brief exploration with his fingers he found the button, and pressed it.

‘Very good,’ Ms Alcott said. ‘Now, make sure you’re facing the street, and then you’re ready to cross when the beeps start. There are tactile strips at the sides of the crossing so you shouldn’t stray off track. Just be aware, though, that just because the lights have changed and the signal is telling you to cross, you still _have_ to rely on your own senses and judgement. Don’t cross if you don’t think it’s safe.’

Spock nodded, not replying because the beeping had started and he wanted to concentrate. He listened, and could not hear any movement in the traffic. Others were walking. He began to walk across the road, restraining the emotional feeling that he was setting off on a perilous journey. But the traffic was still stationary. He could hear that quite clearly. He could hear and sense the other pedestrians who were crossing parallel to him. He could hear the people on the other side walking on the sidewalk.

He was aware that he was moving too slowly. His left foot felt a raised point on the road and he realised he had moved somewhat off track. The beeping had stopped and he was certain that most people were now off the crossing. Suddenly he felt extremely vulnerable.

‘It’s all right, Spock,’ Ms Alcott told him, from quite close beside him. ‘The traffic’s waiting. They understand.’

Spock pursed his lips and continued moving across the street, pushing away the feeling of discomfort. When the cane swept the slight bump of the kerb and then the tactile paving beyond he let out a sigh. The sensation was much like the first time he had successfully piloted a large vessel in to dock.

Ms Alcott touched his arm lightly.

‘You did really well,’ she said quietly. ‘I wouldn’t have attempted that with most people on their second day of training. That just shows how adept you are.’

Spock did not reply, caught up in trying to control his semi-panicked reaction to the crossing. Ms Alcott touched his arm again.

‘Come over here and sit down,’ she said. ‘Take my arm.’

He did as she instructed and followed her over to a chair at what seemed to be a pavement café. She did not try to engage him in conversation, but left him to himself as she ordered two glasses of orange juice. He leant the cane against the table edge for a moment, then folded it up and put it carefully on the ground between his feet and pressed it between them.

Ms Alcott laughed. ‘You know, you remind me of my sister when you do that,’ she said.

‘When I do what?’ Spock asked, arching an eyebrow.

‘Holding your cane like that between the edges of your feet. I always feel like she’s afraid of it running away.’

‘There is a certain amount of impetus to be certain it does not get lost,’ Spock replied. ‘Then – your sister is blind?’

‘Yeah, my older sister. She’s one of the reasons why I do what I do. Did you know, Mr Spock, there are almost twice as many women who are blind as men – in humans at least? The figure is something around 65%.’

‘I did not know that,’ Spock said, quite fascinated. ‘Do you know why that is?’

She laughed. ‘Oh, gosh, there’s a variety of reasons and I can’t remember any one of them right now. I mean, some of it’s because women tend to live longer than men, but that doesn’t account for all of it. Oh, thank you,’ she said, her tone changing, and Spock understood that she was speaking to a waiter as he heard the clack of two glasses being set down on the table. ‘I thought you were due for a break, Spock. Here’s your drink.’

Spock reached out and she touched the glass to his fingertips. He took a sip, and found that the orange juice was also full of ice cubes, but he drank it without complaint. The juice was good, even if the cold was not. He sat listening to the chatter around him. He caught fragments of conversation, scents, and sounds from the pedestrians walking past a few feet away, but he heard more from the patrons at the other tables. He cocked his head a little to one side.

‘Is that an Orion?’ he asked in a low voice, curious at the subtle sound of the accent. It almost sounded like an Orion trying to sound like a native citizen of North America.

There was a brief pause and he heard Ms Alcott turning in her chair. ‘Not that I can see,’ she replied in an equally quiet voice. ‘Orions are green – am I right? Not so hard to miss.’

‘You are correct,’ Spock said. He frowned a little, concentrating. ‘I would say – one point three metres away, directly behind me.’

‘Definitely not,’ she said. ‘As far as I can tell, everyone here is human.’

Spock carried on sipping his drink, casting his mind back to the similar moment a few weeks ago on the ship to Earth. Peter had annoyed some of the passengers on the ferry. Spock had thought they sounded Orion, but Jim had said they were human. Like that last time, he could hear two males and one female, all with that accent that had such subtle features of Orion intonation that most people would probably not notice. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but Spock thought it unlikely. He drew out the comm that he could not use.

‘Ms Alcott, is there a camera on this comm?’ he asked.

‘I expect so,’ she said curiously, taking it from him. ‘Yes, there is. Why do you ask?’

‘I would like you to discreetly take a photograph of the people sitting behind me,’ he said. ‘I cannot explain why, but I assure you that it is for a valid reason.’

‘Well, I – ’ she began, demurring.

‘I cannot do it myself,’ Spock said.

‘Well... All right then,’ she replied. ‘I can pretend I’m taking a picture of you. They’re a little to one side. Smile, Mr Spock.’

Spock was consternated at her instruction, and as he frowned he heard the click of the camera.

‘I didn’t really mean smile,’ Ms Alcott said apologetically. ‘Just a stock phrase. Something we humans say when we take a photo.’

She fell into silence for a while, and Spock sat and continued to drink his orange, shivering as the icy liquid slipped down his throat.

‘Here’s the comm, Spock,’ Ms Alcott said after a minute of quiet, touching it to his hand. ‘Your partner will be able to access the photo for you.’

‘Thank you, Ms Alcott,’ Spock nodded, grateful for her cooperation and her discretion. He slipped the comm back into his pocket and held down the button to turn it off.

‘You’ve reminded me – I promised to help you get an adapted comm,’ she said. ‘There’s a great place in Chicago for adaptive equipment. We could beam over and do that this afternoon. You’d be back before five.’

‘Do they also sell accessible computing equipment?’ Spock asked curiously.

‘Hmm, let me check,’ she murmured.

Spock sat and waited, leaning back in his chair and listening to the conversation that was being carried on by the Orion-accented strangers. They were talking of nothing of consequence, but he was certain that he recognised the voices from the ferry. He was not even certain why he was so interested in them, but there was something odd in beings who sounded as if they were from Orion but did not look as if they were from Orion. The planet was not usually welcoming to non-natives, except as high-paying guests or those unfortunates who were forced into slavery, and it thus it was rare for anyone of another species to have such an accent. Orions were, on the other hand, experts at whole-body disguise, and he did not imagine that an Orion in disguise would ever bode well.

‘Yes, they do sell accessible computing equipment,’ Ms Alcott cut into his thoughts. ‘You might require some more training to use that, of course. Learning Braille is a big priority, but a first step could be a computing unit that’s entirely voice-activated and with an audio output. Anything large that you ordered could be sent straight to your address, I’m sure.’

‘That would be excellent,’ Spock nodded. Perhaps, then, he would be able to start helping Jim very soon, perhaps even tonight. ‘I have a Braille class scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, don’t I?’

‘Yes, I think you do,’ she replied, sounding as if she were smiling. ‘You know, Spock, I’ve worked with a lot of people in the past but I think you’re probably my most eager – and most able – pupil.’

‘I endeavour to do my best,’ Spock said gravely. ‘It can only be of benefit to me.’

‘You’ve also got an appointment with the counsellor tomorrow,’ she reminded him quietly.

‘Yes,’ Spock replied, in a rather more constrained tone.

‘We have reached out to the Vulcan Institute in Tokyo and they will be beaming over a Vulcan counsellor for your sessions,’ she reminded him. ‘You don’t need to worry about it.’

‘I am not worrying,’ Spock corrected her. All the same, he was not filled with positive anticipation at the thought of having to spend two hours in consultation with a counsellor. He had lost his sight, and he was reconciling himself to that as best he could. He did not see the need for outside interference.

((O))

Later that day Spock sat on the balcony of their apartment with the sun shining full on his face, relishing that natural and intense warmth. It was nothing approaching even a mild day on Vulcan, but on Earth at this time of year it was highly pleasant. He had felt slightly cold ever since the iced orange juice he had drunk earlier.

There were footsteps from behind him, and Jim came out to join him, putting something down on the small table out there. Spock could smell coffee and alcohol, and something else.

‘Coffee for you, to warm you up, and vegan pastries,’ Jim told him as he turned his head to the scent.

‘The doctor will not be pleased,’ Spock commented. The alcohol, then, must be Jim’s alone.

Jim laughed. ‘Well, I’ve joined a gym, Spock. That’ll keep him happy. I thought you could come along with me some evenings.’

Spock nodded. He had not given much thought to keeping fit, but it was a logical idea. He was used to using the gym on the ship several times a week.

‘Jim, I would welcome your opinion on something,’ he said, taking his comm out of his pocket. ‘There is a picture on this comm. It should be the only picture on it. Can you tell me if you recognise the people in it?’

Jim took the device, his fingers lingering briefly against Spock’s in a cool, welcome touch.

‘It’s you, Spock,’ he said rather tartly after a moment. ‘You look – concerned – in it.’

Spock sighed. ‘I may be in the foreground,’ he said. ‘I asked Ms Alcott to be discreet. What of the people behind me?’

There was a pause, and Spock waited. It was intensely frustrating not to be able to see the picture himself.

‘Yes,’ Jim said after a few moments. ‘Yes, those three, isn’t it? The ones behind your right shoulder. I remember them from somewhere. Damned if I can remember where...’

‘On the ferry,’ Spock reminded him. ‘Peter caused a small amount of trouble – ’

‘Oh!’ There was a slapping sound. Jim, slapping his hand on his thigh. ‘ _Yes_ , Spock. That’s them. What – Did you recognise the voices, Spock? Why the photo? They’re in uniform, you know. One’s a commander, one a captain. I can’t tell about the other...’

Spock stiffened at that. Ms Alcott had not mentioned the uniforms, but there were so many ’fleet personnel in the city perhaps it was not surprising she saw no import in it.

‘Starfleet uniform, Jim?’

‘Yeah, the dark haired one’s a commander, the woman’s a captain. I wouldn’t have guessed... Small world, eh?’

‘On the contrary,’ Spock argued. ‘This world is very large, and the galaxy still larger. The odds on our encountering these people on their way to Earth and then encountering them again in San Francisco are astronomical – unless there is a specific reason for them to be here. The reason is, evidently, that they are in Starfleet.’

‘So they’re in Starfleet,’ Jim said. Spock could almost feel his shrug. ‘It’s a coincidence, Spock, but why did you feel the need to take a photo?’

‘Do you remember me asking you if they were Orions on the ferry, Jim?’ Spock asked.

Jim was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘Yes, I think I do. But they weren’t Orion then and they’re not Orion now. They look human to me, or near as dammit.’

‘I was struck with the same thought today, Jim. They sounded Orion. It is unusual for a humanoid to sound Orion and not _be_ Orion, is it not?’

‘It is – but honestly, they just sounded like humans to me, Spock.’

Spock closed his eyes and leant back in his chair, letting the heat of the sun push through his eyelids and warm the bones of his face. No light. There was no hint of light coming through into his eyes at all, not even that warm green one saw through closed eyelids on a bright day. He wanted to be able to see the photograph that Ms Alcott had taken. He wanted to compare that image to the image of them on the ferry. He wanted to scratch this surface layer of dark from his eyes.

He lifted his closed fist and thumped it onto the wooden arm of the chair.

‘Spock?’ Jim asked, suddenly concerned.

‘I am sorry, Jim,’ he said, clenching his fist very hard, and then deliberately relaxing it and laying it flat on his thigh. ‘My control – ’

‘Spock,’ Jim said firmly, putting his hand over Spock’s and stroking gently. ‘You don’t _ever_ have to apologise about your control to me. Never. You know that.’

Spock sighed, trying to stop himself from dropping his head, from letting his expression falter. Sometimes he felt so _tired_ of the darkness. Tears and frustration and anger were a millimetre away from exploding in him, and every time he packed them back down, processed them and hid them away. What had been his achievement of today? Crossing a road. What a pathetic action to take pride in...

He pushed his fingers down hard onto his thigh, and Jim’s hand settled more firmly on his. He needed to control these emotions. He needed to look rationally at his achievements in the light of his disability. Crossing a road, in the context of working in utter darkness, was truly a big thing.

‘Jim, were those people wearing Starfleet uniforms on the ferry?’ he asked. It was important to get back onto this subject rather than being derailed by his own emotionalism.

‘Uh – no, they weren’t,’ Jim replied distractedly. ‘Spock, look, I want you to be able to talk to me about your feelings. I don’t want you to bottle everything up. It’s not good for – ’

‘For me, I must manage my emotions in the way I have been taught,’ Spock said. ‘Jim, these people – it is important. If they were not wearing uniforms on the ferry – why were they not? How often do you travel out of uniform?’

‘Well I was out of uniform then, for one. I didn’t want the hassle of it, didn’t want the recognition, to feel I was on duty. I was looking after Pete – ’

Spock sighed, hearing the unspoken, _and you._ ‘Very well. You were not in uniform then. But how often?’

‘All right, I’ll concede I’m usually in uniform,’ Jim agreed finally, ‘but that doesn’t mean they had to. It’s not an obligation. Why does it matter, Spock? Why is it so important to you? There were probably hundreds of people in Starfleet travelling when we were travelling, and they’re not obliged to wear uniform when they’re not on duty, in that situation.’

‘Jim, I understand that you could not detect the accent in their voices, but I am certain that I heard it. I have heard them speak twice now. Travellers who sound like Orions but do not look like Orions. Starfleet officers who sound like Orions but do not look like Orions. You are searching for rogue members of Starfleet who may be acting on behalf of Vulcan renegades. Here we have three individuals who are not as they seem, who appear, to me at least, to be from one of the most lawless planets in this quadrant of the galaxy, and yet wearing the uniforms of this quadrant’s foremost peacekeepers.’

There was silence. Spock could hear Jim’s breathing, hear gulls calling far off where waves crashed on the shore, hear voices in the street below. Jim remained silent, and Spock waited.

‘All right, Spock,’ he said finally. ‘I trust your judgement, and I’ll look into it. I can put this photo in the database and try to get a match with the images. But you know that Orions are hard to tell from humans without an in-depth medical scan, and they’re experts at masking body readings when necessary. It’s only their skin that gives them away...’

‘And they are also experts at disguise,’ Spock reminded him darkly.

‘Yes,’ Jim murmured. ‘And also the most immoral scum of the galaxy. If you really could hear Orion intonations in their voices, and I do trust you, Spock, then there’s something going on. That’s for certain. You might have found exactly what I’m looking for.’

They sat silent for a while. Jim still had the comm. Spock picked up his coffee and drank, and then felt carefully for one of the pastries and took a bite. Jim had chosen well. It was something with almond in it, very low sugar, flaky and rich in fats.

‘You know there’s a video on here too, Spock,’ Jim said. ‘Camera’s at a weird angle. Maybe she hit the wrong button if it was a comm she’s not familiar with.’

Spock put the remains of the pastry down. ‘I did not know that.’

Sounds started up, slightly tinny through the small comm speakers. He recognised Ms Alcott’s voice. ‘ _Just a stock phrase. Something we humans say when we take a photo.’_ Then her voice stopped and there were the sounds of the street and café exactly as he had heard them earlier, and faintly in the background the sound of people talking. There were louder noises in the foreground, the sounds of movement, then Ms Alcott’s words as she returned the comm, the scraping of fabric close against the microphone, and then silence.

‘Did you hear that, Jim?’ Spock asked. ‘The accent on the ‘o’ particularly.’

Jim went back to the start of the video and listened again, but Spock could feel the human’s struggle.

‘Spock, I can’t even work out what they’re saying let alone the accent on the ‘o’. My hearing isn’t as sharp as yours. I’m sorry. But whatever I find out about them tomorrow, I promise I’ll let you know. It’s been a long day, and I’m not anxious to be working on it now. I’d rather hear about how your day went.’

He handed the comm back to Spock, and Spock slipped it back into his pocket and leant back in his chair. He was convinced of the identity of those three people. He just had to work out a way of fighting through this darkness to convince Jim, if his investigations tomorrow led nowhere.

‘Could you do one more thing for me, Jim?’ he asked.

‘Sure, anything,’ Jim said easily.

‘I bought a new comm today, along with some other equipment that should be arriving tomorrow. I have the comm here. Could you use my old comm to send that photograph and video to my new one?’

‘Of course,’ Jim said. ‘I’ll get that done, and then I’m going to put my feet up, and you can tell me about everything you did today.’


	17. Chapter 17

It was eight in the morning and Jim had already left for work, but Spock did not need to be at the rehabilitation centre until eleven for his appointment with the counsellor. He had cogitated various reasons which might allow him to not attend the meeting, but he could not think of any that did not, in the end, come down to the emotional truth that he was afraid to talk about his reaction to his blindness, even to a Vulcan who was trained in the area.

He was in the shower, the water pulsing hard against his skin. He had set it for the strongest flow and the highest temperature, and was relishing the bone-deep warmth that the water imparted. He was not pleased when through the hiss of the water he heard the door buzzer, insistent and repeating.

He sighed and stepped out of the shower. The controls had, at least, been easy to master once Jim had guided him through them, and he switched off the water without trouble. He called out loudly, ‘I am coming,’ before towelling himself off briefly, and shrugging on the bath robe that he had left out.

The buzzer continued, and he called out, ‘Coming!’ again as he navigated through the sitting room toward the door. He opened it rather cautiously. It was unpleasant opening a door to someone he could not see.

‘Delivery, sir. I’ve got a few boxes. Want me to carry them in?’

It was a human male, going by the sound of his voice and the scent of his body.

‘Yes, please,’ Spock said, undoing the safety chain and opening the door fully. He went to pick up his cane from the kitchen counter, and unfolded it to help himself navigate the room.

‘I guess they’re for you, huh?’ the man asked, carrying something bulky into the room. ‘Addressed to Spock, from the Chicago Sight Aid Company. I’ll put this on the table.’

Spock listened to the man carrying the box across the room, and the dull thump as he put it down on the table. He sounded like a pleasant, friendly sort of person. Perhaps he could make an appeal to him.

‘Sir, do you have a little time to spare?’ Spock asked.

The man sucked in breath between his teeth as if thinking, then said, ‘Sure. I’m running a little early.’

‘One of these boxes should contain a computer,’ Spock said. ‘Can you help me to set it up?’

Setting up consisted of not much more than opening the box and attaching the leads to the correct ports and plugging it in to power and telecommunications, but Spock could not have done it alone. Without the five minutes of help from the delivery man he would have had to wait all day for Jim’s assistance, and he showed his gratitude to the man by making him a large cup of coffee.

‘Glad to help, sir,’ the man said warmly as he left. ‘And good luck with the computer!’

Spock shut the door and went back to the table to seat himself before the gently humming machine. A moment of regret washed through him. He held an A7 computer classification, and he had required help just to get this machine up and running. But perhaps his intolerable inability would end here with this computer. It was entirely voice activated and capable of complete audio reproduction of anything on the screen. It was true that he could not take the panels off and fiddle with the electronics, but if he could enter a command verbally, the computer should obey.

His first task was to take out his new accessible comm, open it, and place it near the computer.

‘Computer,’ he said.

‘Working,’ the computer replied, in a female voice significantly different from that on the _Enterprise_.

‘Detect comm device G-73 in proximity to the computer, and connect.’

‘Comm device detected. Device is locked.’

Spock  touched his thumb to the screen for print recognition, then said, ‘Detect images and videos and transfer to computer. Create new folder; Images. Location; desktop.’

‘Working.’

The computer whirred, and Spock waited.

‘Completed.’

Spock relaxed minutely. ‘Computer, set up telecommunications link through account Spock-Kirk 7212359. Contact Starfleet ship USS  _Enterprise_ , Lieutenant Uhura.’

‘Working,’ the computer said again. It only took a few seconds, and then Spock heard a very welcome voice.

‘USS _Enterprise_ , Uhura speaking. Mr Spock! Oh, it’s wonderful to see you!’

Her voice was flooded with warmth, and Spock felt warmed just by hearing it.

‘It is equally pleasant to hear your voice, Lieutenant,’ he replied.

‘Mr Spock, how are you?’ she asked.

Spock tilted his head a little to one side. ‘As you are aware, I have been better,’ he replied, ‘but I am managing. Lieutenant, I called to ask you a favour, since you are the most proficient person at xeno-linguistics that I know. I wish to send you a video file. You will see an image of myself. Behind me are seated three individuals in Starfleet uniform, two males and a female. I want you to extract their conversation and give me your analysis of their accents.’

‘Oh – of course, Mr Spock,’ she said, sounding a little puzzled. ‘Can you explain – ’

Spock shook his head. ‘I cannot. Computer, transfer video file in desktop folder Images to receiving computer, USS  _Enterprise._ ’

‘Do you want to leave it with me and let me get back to you, Mr Spock?’ Uhura asked as the computer worked.

‘That would be satisfactory,’ Spock nodded. ‘Computer, end call.’

The channel died into silence, and Spock sat still at the table for a moment, his hands clasped on the surface before him. It was good to have access to a computer again.

‘Computer,’ he said. ‘Access world net, and search. Site: Project Gutenberg. Target file: The Odyssey, by Homer. Create audiobook, and feed to comm device G-73.’

‘Working.’ The computer hummed again, and Spock waited. After a few moments the female voice said, ‘File acquired. Audiobook created and fed to comm device G-73.’

Spock picked up the smooth, pleasantly weighted comm, and then attached the earphones which he kept in his pocket. He touched the button on the top and said, ‘Play audio; Odyssey, by Homer. Book eleven.’

The voice started to filter into his ears, and he sat back in the chair, content at resuming the book that he had not been able to read since that fateful day in orbit of Deneva.

He had been sunk into the story for half an hour when the computer beeped, and the female voice said smoothly, ‘Incoming call from Lieutenant Uhura, USS  _Enterprise._ ’

He paused the book and removed his earphones. ‘Computer, answer. Spock here.’

‘Mr Spock,’ Uhura’s voice greeted him. ‘I’ve listened to your video, sir. Actually, I got Chekov to watch it first and extract the audio so that I wasn’t swayed by appearances.’

Spock nodded in satisfaction. It was typical of Uhura to do such a thorough job.

‘Go on, Lieutenant,’ he said.

‘It wasn’t the clearest of recordings, but from what I could hear I’d say they’re originally Orion, and they’ve either come through some human colony world or they’re making a deliberate attempt to disguise the Orion accent,’ she told him.

Spock exhaled in satisfaction. ‘Those were my thoughts exactly, Lieutenant. Thank you.’

‘But – I watched the video afterwords,’ she continued. ‘They didn’t _look_ Orion, Mr Spock. They looked entirely human. I think if I’d watched the video without hearing the audio first I wouldn’t have picked up those slight differences in pronunciation.’

‘I am grateful to have your expert input, Lieutenant,’ Spock said. ‘You have confirmed my suspicions. Spock ou-’

‘Mr Spock,’ she interrupted him before he could cut the connection.

‘Yes, Lieutenant?’

‘Mr Spock, we all miss you very much,’ she said with feeling.

Spock felt a little nonplussed. He missed the ship and some of its crew too, if he were honest with himself, but he did not know how to reply to such an emotional statement.

‘I hope that your feelings don’t interfere with your efficiency, Lieutenant,’ he said.

She laughed gently. ‘No, Mr Spock, we’re all doing our best. We’re just anxious to have you back, sir.’

‘I am also doing my best in that regard,’ Spock replied gravely. ‘Spock out. Computer, cut connection.’

As the connection faded he just heard Uhura saying, ‘Goodbye, sugar.’

He sat with his hand resting on the table, just thinking. Human interactions were quite bewildering. He sensed that he never quite gave Lieutenant Uhura the correct responses in conversation, yet she always remained warm and affectionate, and deep beneath his controls and discipline he felt affection in return. He  _did_ miss Uhura. He missed the ship. Dare he admit it, he even missed Dr McCoy. He needed to succeed in this rehabilitation to have even a hope of returning to the ship. But his next task of the day felt even more momentous than the whole course of rehabilitation. In half an hour a pre-ordered cab would arrive to take him to the rehabilitation centre, and he would be meeting with the Vulcan counsellor Stolek. He did not feel ready to probe his emotional response to losing his sight. He suspected that he never would.

When the cab came Spock felt his first moment of real difficulty that morning. He had become quite familiar with the interior of the apartment, although he had not yet familiarised himself with the contents of most of the kitchen cabinets or the use of various equipment there more complicated than the coffee maker. Jim was usually on hand for those things. The exterior was a different matter. He had yet to leave the apartment without Jim, and now, with the cab outside waiting for him, he suddenly felt highly incapable. He had his cane in his hand and his adapted comm in his pocket, and he managed to lock the door behind him, but the distance between the door and the cab outside seemed great with no arm to guide him. He walked with great care down the stairs and onto the path outside, where he hesitated, wondering exactly where the cab was waiting.

A door slammed, and he started. It sounded like the door to a vehicle.

‘Are you Commander Spock?’ a woman called out.

Spock turned toward the voice. ‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Are you the cab driver?’

‘That’s me,’ she said cheerily, coming over to him. Spock heard her footsteps change as she moved from hard pavement to grass, and back to the hard path he was on. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Thank you,’ Spock said, reaching out a hand. The woman took it and helped him carefully, if awkwardly, to the cab. Spock sat inside trying not to dwell on the feelings of inadequacy that were crowding in. He had to be logical about this. No matter how hard, how unnerving, how frustrating this blindness was, he had to cling to logic. It was the only thing that would save him.

((O))

_He was deep in his own mind. The chair solid against his back. The tendrils of the creature twining about every nerve. He fought. They cinched tighter. He fought. The agony was unbearable. He held his jaw rigid, held his fingers clenched over the arms of the chair._

_The creature knew. It knew that he was about to deal it a fatal blow. It pressured and pressured him and that wordless voice in his mind told him to stand up, to break open the chamber door, to smash McCoy aside from the console and stop the light from ever flicking on._

_He held more tightly to the arms of the chair and the creature screamed along every nerve. His mind was on fire. He hardly saw the light when it came, but the creature knew, and then he did too. The pain built to a crescendo. He tried to keep his eyes tight shut. The light pushed through the tissue skin, pushed through his bones, pushed through the fabric of his clothes. His body was pierced. The pain made him want to scream aloud, but he held his jaw still. The light peaked, and faded, and died._

_He was left with nothing._

The voice of Stolek, the Vulcan counsellor, broke into his mind.

‘That is not quite true, Spock. You have not been left with nothing.’

_ Darkness, inability, frustration, darkness... _

Stolek’s mind touched his more firmly and soothed some of the sharpness of those emotions, enabling Spock to better examine them, to delve deeper into his own thoughts.

_ Anger. Anger so great he could break glass, bend steel.  He wanted to run and scream. Frustration, anger. The darkness was a web. His life taken and pushed off the rails, turned upside down. Worse than a child. He was dependant on others for everything. He could do nothing. _

‘Show me,’ Stolek murmured into his mind.

_ A memory. In the shower in the new apartment, having turned the water on, but the water was cold and he could not tell how to increase the temperature. Standing there under the full cold force, shivering, his mouth open, his fingers struggling to detect something on that panel that would help him. Finally calling out and Jim coming to him and altering the temperature with one swift movement. One easy movement that was allowed to him because of sight.  Jim’s voice,  _ Spock, you should have asked me. Why didn’t you ask me?  _ But he was speechless with pent emotion. T he water cascading over his skin, taking away the chill, but the anger and frustration held tight in the centre of his chest, a bomb that he could not let explode. He stayed in the shower until he had controlled the fury. He stayed there for half an hour under the water that was still not quite hot enough and that he was powerless to make hotter. _

_ In his mind his hands were shaking. In his mind his chest was so tight it wanted to crack. Frustration, anger, fear, pain. He had lost everything... _

Stolek helped to turn his mind toward some other things. His ability to make distinctions in what he heard in a way that humans could not hope to. His mental capacity, which was far beyond most. His strength, his ability to adapt.

_ What could replace the suffocating darkness? What could approach it? How could life become useful again? _

He felt Stolek withdraw. Slowly the support and guidance of his mind pulled away, until Spock was alone again.

Spock touched his fingers to his face,  to the other side from where Stolek’s fingers were pressuring his skin . His cheek was wet. He felt wrung out, as if he had come through a terrible ordeal. The darkness pressed on him, pressed on his chest, on his arms.

‘Spock,’ Stolek said in a low, resonant voice, lowering his hand.

‘I – apologise,’ Spock said carefully, folding back the emotion that had brought him to this.

‘You are not here for apologies,’ Stolek told him. ‘I have had some experience in counselling those who have lost their sight, Spock. Your reaction is not an unusual one. Incapacity has always been difficult for those of our race to bear.’

‘My disciplines,’ Spock murmured. ‘Logic...’ His voice was hoarse even though he had not been screaming.

‘We are a people of great passion, Spock, passion so great that it must be controlled with an iron rule. Our passions evolved long before Surak and the reformations, long before the schism, long before the word logic had ever come into our vocabulary. They are a genetic certainty, an evolutionary advantage in those distant times. Two thousand years have done nothing to ameliorate the insistence of our genes. It is only by deliberate effort that we overcome those feelings.’

‘And my deliberate effort has – been failing,’ Spock said.

Stolek was silent. Another man might have sighed, but Stolek radiated nothing but great calm. Even in the mind touch Spock had sensed no hint of impatience or desire.

‘You have been dealt a blow, Spock. All of your mechanisms have been geared toward regulating your emotional approach to the life you were accustomed to living. In a timespan of a little over two weeks you suffered extraordinary pain, you lost your sight, you left your home. Without sight every new experience became a trial. Would you expect an infant to stand and run immediately upon being born?’

Spock drew in breath, rubbing the last hints of wetness between his fingertips. It was not unusual for a deep meld to produce deep emotions, but usually the emotions had infiltrated his mind from another, not welled up from deep within his own.

‘I ask you, Spock, to accept the medley of emotions you are experiencing at this time, so as to be able to understand and control them. So far you have not explored those emotions. You have simply put them away and tried to tell yourself they have no place in your mind. Until you can understand your emotions you will not be able to master them. I know you are aware of this, but I sense a fear in you of accepting how very hard you are finding this loss. I’m sure you must understand that fear is also an emotion.’

‘Yes,’ Spock said. He sat up straighter in his chair, torn between the urge for what his father would dismiss as _fidgeting_ and the need to appear composed in front of the first Vulcan he had encountered in far too long.

‘Agreement is useful, Spock, but doesn’t indicate you are deeply considering my theory.’

Spock pressed his lips together. Jim, he was sure, would have given one of those peculiarly human mirthless laughs. Only a human could make a laugh so devoid of humour.

‘You _must_ examine your emotions in order to be able to control,’ Stolek pressed.

Spock dropped his head momentarily. ‘I – am afraid,’ he admitted.  That fear was something so deep and great that he could not encompass it with his control. It was a dark, nebulous thing and he was afraid that fear itself would engulf him.

‘To a creature bred to strict control, admitting a loss of control – even courting that loss of control – is the greatest fear,’ Stolek acknowledged. There was no judgement in his voice. ‘I want you to take a period of meditation every day and devote it to exploring your fear. Through that you will approach the emotions beyond – the emotions of loss, of anger, of frustration, of despair, of fear in your blindness, too. You fear that you have lost your home, your career, your independence, that you have lost every intricate nuance of life that was previously given to you by sight. You will discover new ways of approaching life, but you must accept and master your negative emotions before you can move on.’

Spock drew in a breath that was a little less controlled than he would have liked –  or perhaps more controlled, he acknowledged, than Stolek would have liked.

‘In our next session we will build on what you have achieved in your own time, Spock,’ Stolek warned him.

S pock took that as a dismissal, and stood, unfolding his cane and touching it to the floor.  He was startled to find that his legs felt shaky and his sense of space was confused.

‘I informed your instructor that you would not be attending for the rest of the day. These sessions are taxing, and you need a period of quiet to reflect on what has been done,’ Stolek said, touching a hand to his arm. Spock felt an unprecedented warmth flowing from the man’s fingers into his body, and immediately felt stronger. ‘I will guide you to the foyer, where you can arrange transport.’

 


	18. Chapter 18

[A.N. I’m really sorry this has taken so long. I’m really sorry I’ve lost track of reviews. Life has been hectic and I’ve had major writer’s block. I hope I’m back on track for a bit now after some good inspiration this morning.]

 

It was late when Jim finally left his office at fleet headquarters. He felt guilty for not being there for Spock, but then Spock knew he had to work, and would probably be perfectly logical about it. Nevertheless, he half-jogged up the stairs to the apartment, and entered to see Spock asleep on the sofa, his head sideways against the cushion and his hands loose in his lap. His heart jumped for a moment at the sight of the Vulcan so innocent and childlike. He always looked like that in sleep, as if he were catching a glimpse of the child of seven instead of the man of thirty-seven.

He tiptoed across the room, put his bags down on the counter, and then returned to Spock to bend and kiss him lightly on the top of his sleek, black-haired head.

Spock jerked out of a half-slumber and muttered something, his eyes opening blankly. Then something of a smile touched his lips.

‘Jim, my t’hy’la,’ he murmured, reaching out a hand, which Jim caught and pressed.

‘Spock,’ Jim said, his voice warm and rich as he slipped down to join Spock on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. I tried ringing but I guess you didn’t hear it.’

Spock blinked. He looked rather disoriented. ‘I must have fallen asleep,’ he admitted. ‘It has been a long day.’

Jim felt a flicker of concern. It was unlike Spock to admit to such a thing as a long day, and even more unlike him to fall asleep without meaning to. He stroked a hand across the Vulcan’s cheek, feeling pleasure at the way Spock pressed himself a little closer to the touch, but trying to discern if his temperature felt off. He seemed quite normal in that respect, though.

‘Are you all right, Spock?’ he asked.

‘I am all right,’ the Vulcan replied. ‘Simply tired.’

His hands clenched and unclenched, and Jim watched, very aware of signs of tension in his partner. He knew, though, that pressing him would yield nothing.

‘Well, I brought take-out food home for dinner,’ Jim told him, ‘and there’s nothing either of us need to do this evening but relax. We don’t have to eat right now. I’ll put it in the stasis box and it’ll stay hot.’

He levered himself off the sofa again and took the bag over to put it in the stasis and shut the door.

‘Jim,’ Spock said from the sofa, and there was something in his voice now that galvanised Kirk.

‘Spock, what is it?’ he asked instantly, turning around. Spock had not changed his position on the sofa, but he looked exhausted, wrung out in a way that Jim was not used to seeing.

Spock shook his head. Jim could feel his difficulty. He could feel words that Spock could not say, waiting to come out. He wanted to offer a direct mind touch but he felt certain that Spock would reject it. He came back to the sofa and sat down again, very close to the Vulcan’s warm body, wrapping his hands around Spock’s so that the surface level of Spock’s thoughts sparked in his mind.

‘This,’ Spock said, as if he were struggling for words. ‘This...’

Jim could feel that Spock was close to some kind of breakdown, almost as if he were ready to weep. He couldn’t fathom what had brought him to this level, but he asked no questions and just wrapped his arms around the Vulcan’s narrow shoulders, holding him tightly. Spock exhaled and let himself rest against the human. He didn’t initiate a meld but Jim felt a wash of emotion touching his own thoughts, pressing in against them. It felt like a wall crumbling and water rushing through, like crying without the physical signs of crying.

‘Spock,’ he murmured, stroking his hands against the Vulcan’s back. ‘Spock, talk to me.’

‘I have done little today but talk,’ Spock said, his voice muffled against Jim’s body, his breathing hot through Jim’s clothes. ‘Let me be silent.’

Jim suddenly remembered that today had been Spock’s first session with the Vulcan counsellor. Was there where all this had come from, then? He felt a sudden surge of antipathy towards this anonymous person who had coaxed such emotion from _his_ Vulcan. Everything rushed in on him; Deneva; pain; loss; fear; anger. Then he realised that those flashing impressions were not his own, they were Spock’s, and it was Spock quaking beneath that terrible medley of emotion.

‘Oh, Spock, Spock,’ he murmured, tightening his arms around his lover and rocking him slowly. ‘I’m here, you know. I’ll always be here.’

There was a feeling of great control, of all those emotions being pulled back and folded in. He could feel it shuddering through the Vulcan’s body as he brought great discipline to bear. He pulled himself away from Jim, sitting up straighter with a look of great dignity on his face.

‘Don’t,’ Jim said before he could speak. ‘Don’t apologise, Spock. There’s no need.’

‘No,’ Spock murmured. ‘Very well.’

He was obviously trying hard to pull himself back to a normal Vulcan dignity. His eyes sparkled as if tears had wetted them but not gathered enough to fall. Jim couldn’t bear to see him like that, and looked away. He noticed the computer set up on the table.

‘You got the new computer,’ he said, hoping a change of subject would be beneficial.

‘Yes, it arrived this morning,’ Spock said. ‘Fortunately the delivery man was able to help me set it up.’

‘I bet you’re glad to be back in touch,’ Jim smiled.

‘It is gratifying,’ was all that Spock would acknowledge.

‘Look, Spock, I’m sorry it’s been a long day,’ Jim told him, stroking the Vulcan’s arm. There was still tension in him. ‘How about we hole up in bed and eat there, and just have a cosy night. We’ve both got tomorrow off. We can make a lazy day of it, do exactly what you want.’

‘What I want – is my sight,’ Spock said.

Jim felt as if his heart were breaking at that. He took the Vulcan’s hands, kissed his long fingers and palms, laid kisses on his face and hair.

‘If I could sell my soul to give you your sight, I would,’ he said.

Spock’s eyebrow rose. ‘Illogical. Impractical. I would rather have your soul, fully intact, in you.’

((O))

When he woke the next morning Jim could still see the frustration in Spock. The Vulcan had apparently been awake for some time, and he found him sitting in a chair near the balcony doors, meditating. His long fingers were steepled before his face, but his lips were pressed together with tension.

‘Spock,’ Jim said softly, sitting down in a chair nearby.

The Vulcan flinched, and lowered his hands.

‘Jim, good morning.’

‘Still feeling it?’ Jim asked, and Spock looked a little confused. ‘I mean the rebound from the counselling.’

‘Ah,’ Spock replied in his resonant voice. He evidently did not want to talk about it, and Jim did not press it. ‘Jim, I neglected to mention that I spoke to Uhura yesterday. She holds the same opinion as I on the recording of the suspects at the café.’

‘Suspects, Spock?’ Jim asked lightly. ‘That’s going a bit far, isn't it?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Spock said mildly. ‘I suspect them of subterfuge. Therefore they are suspects. Miss Uhura concurs. She also believed they sounded like Orions.’

Jim leant forward in his chair. ‘She does?’

Spock nodded. ‘She had Chekov extract the audio and listened without visual reference. Her exact words were, _from what I could hear I’d say they’re originally Orion, and they’ve either come through some human colony world or they’re making a deliberate attempt to disguise the Orion accent._ ’

Jim rubbed his thumb over his lip, thinking back to his long day at work. Part of the day had been spent in trying to identify those three Starfleet officers that had been present in Spock’s recording. He had finally managed to make a computer match, but the records of those identified had checked out completely as two humans from Earth and a human from Alpha Centauri. They had been registered on the civilian ferry that he and Spock had travelled on, and listed as returning to Earth after a conference in the J’wata system. It was all down in the records, all above board.

But Uhura had the most discriminating hearing of anyone he knew beside Spock, and was a linguistics expert besides. He shouldn’t dismiss Spock’s judgement in the case. He couldn’t possibly dismiss both of them.

‘Jim?’ Spock asked, turning towards him a little more.

‘I’m thinking, Spock,’ he murmured. ‘You know, I did some digging about those people yesterday. Everything checked out. Nothing suspicious, exemplary service records. Nothing to flag up.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Spock said.

‘Nevertheless,’ Jim nodded. ‘There’s something there, Spock. You heard it, Uhura heard it. There’s _got_ to be something.’

‘The original assertion was that the motivation behind the plot came from certain Vulcan sects,’ Spock reminded him. ‘How would Orions fit into that?’

Jim mused on that. ‘Orions are experts at disguise, much more fitted for passing themselves off as human than Vulcans would be. It’s a fact that there aren’t a lot of Vulcans high up in the fleet. They’re much more noticeable. And Orions will put themselves out to hire for anyone who has the right amount of cash.’

‘They are working for the plot-masters,’ Spock said.

‘I’d guess so, yes.’

‘Then it is important to try to trace their employer.’

‘Important – but difficult,’ Jim nodded. He could not imagine how hard it would be to trace a connection between a group of Orions, experts at subterfuge, and a group of Vulcans, some of the most intelligent and computer-literature people in the galaxy.

‘Jim, can you let me have the access codes for the three Orions’ Starfleet accounts – communication, personal date, and so on?’ Spock asked.

Jim hesitated. He knew that Admiral Williams had pledged to allow Spock full access on this project, but he had his own reservations. There was so much that Spock had to focus on right now that he hesitated to throw anything extra into his lap.

‘Jim,’ Spock said, and the softness that he put into the _j_ made Jim’s stomach flip over. He found it so hard to resist him. His eyes were like dark chocolate, his voice like melted chocolate. Just the sound of his voice made him want to take him back into the bedroom and lay him on the bed and –

He forced his mind off that subject. Just at those thoughts he was already starting to stiffen beneath his clothes. That was the last thing Spock needed, and the Vulcan was probably catching on to the erotic thoughts that were starting in the human’s mind. It wasn’t fair to influence him like that.

He cleared his throat and brought himself back to the present subject. Orions. Vulcans. Spock wanted the access codes.

‘You can access that kind of thing on your new computer?’ he asked. ‘I mean – it puts them into audio, or – ’

‘Yes, it will convert the records to audio,’ Spock nodded. ‘I can attach a Braille screen but since I have not yet progressed far enough with Braille – ’

‘Well, all right,’ Jim finally conceded. ‘I’ll give you the codes. But not right now, huh? I want a day off, and I want you to have a day off too. I thought maybe we could go take a walk on the beach, or even beam over and see how mom and Pete are doing.’

Spock pressed his lips together, but he did not argue. Jim sat regarding him, trying to reconcile the emotions he felt as he looked on him. He had changed so much. Spock had always been unfailingly assertive. Now his assertiveness came more in sudden waves, borne by anger or frustration. He seemed to have taken a step back, to have decided he could not function in so many areas, so he would not try.

He desperately missed the Spock he had known for years, the decisive, assertive, capable man that he had grown to love. He was there still, he knew, but everything was veiled by blindness. Everywhere he turned there was that goddamn blindness, in the folded cane on the counter, in the computer on the table, in the way Spock’s shoes were carefully lined up in a separate place from his own, the way the floor was utterly clear of even a carelessly dropped sock and the furniture was always precisely where Spock expected it to be. It was in the little tags Jim had stuck on to the tea and coffee tins so Spock could tell which was which without opening them, in the way the doors were always closed or fully open but never halfway, so Spock could not unexpectedly run into the edge. Spock was tied to his blindness, and Jim was too.

Suddenly he began to weep. He had not even felt it coming, but there it was. He wept for everything that had changed. He tried desperately to keep it from Spock, pushing his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sound in his throat, but it was not so easy to hide from a telepath when the mental waves of his agony must have been filling the room.

‘Jim?’ Spock said, reaching out a hand to him.

‘I’m sorry, Spock,’ he murmured. ‘I’m really sorry.’

Spock’s face was puzzled and concerned. ‘Jim, what is wrong? Is it Sam?’

Jim bit back on the surging grief and swallowed, pressing all thoughts back into his head, bringing an image of Sam into his mind and letting it take over his other thoughts. It was easy enough to let the grief well for Sam and displace other things, and more than anything he didn’t want Spock to guess that he was weeping for his lover’s blindness.

‘Yes, Spock,’ he said. ‘Yes, it’s Sam again. I’m sorry...’

Spock held him as he had held Spock the night before, cradling him until the hard edges of the grief melted away. This was Spock, the strong, hot arms around him, the depth of care that he could feel beneath the veneer of dispassion. Spock, the strong and determined man who had been at his side for all these years, as a friend and finally as a lover. When he closed his eyes and leant against the wiry, desert-bred body he could forget for a moment that Spock could not see.

‘You are right,’ Spock said, his hand firm against the back of Jim’s head, his fingertips brushing through his hair. ‘We should go visit your mother and Peter. Perhaps that will help you. Do you want to go to your brother’s grave?’

Jim almost laughed a humourless laugh, but he bit it back. ‘No, I don’t want to go to his grave. He’s not there, Spock, not really. But I would love to see mom and Petey today, if they’re in. Let’s get cleaned up and get the hell out of here. I need a day on the farm.’

((O))

Spock did not stop cogitating the problem of the possible Orion spies for the whole time they were getting ready and in transit to Iowa. Although he was responsive to Jim’s presence Spock’s mind was constantly working. He kept a small padd at his side, a voice-interactive one that he had bought with other equipment when he had ordered the computer, and had persuaded Jim to give him the requisite codes before they travelled. He sat listening through the earpiece in the cab to the San Francisco transporter terminal, and continued to review the data as they walked from the Chicago national terminal to the local one that would take them to Riverside, relying on Jim’s guidance utterly. When they got into the cab in Riverside to take them to the farm Jim leant close to the Vulcan and said discreetly, ‘Spock, I know you want to be tackling this problem, but it might be best to put it away when we meet mom, huh?’

Spock’s eyebrow gave a flicker of brief surprise, and he carefully put the padd back into his shoulder bag. He had been intending to do so anyway, but perhaps Jim was nervous. He often sensed this slight uncertainty in humans over how a Vulcan might behave, despite the fact that he would only act according to logic.

‘It is away,’ Spock said, pressing his hand against the bulk of the padd in the bag.

The padd had a tactile screen as well as an audio interface, and his fingers itched to be able to read the Braille writing that was pressed up through the screen. He had already committed all of the combinations that made up letters to memory, alongside the various abbreviations that made the writing less cumbersome and the various diacritic combinations that allowed him to type in other languages, such as Vulcan. His fingers were used to settling on the Braille keyboard, which had far fewer keys than a conventional keyboard, and he found it relatively easy to remember the combinations and type them correctly. But his fingertips still stubbornly refused to sense the combinations without intense concentration and repeated re-feeling. Ms Alcott had assured him that it was simply a matter of time, and that this point in his learning would be the most frustrating, but that did not alter the fact that he wanted to be able to read _now_. He knew that reading Braille would be slower than reading conventional writing, but it was sure to be considerably faster than waiting for the rather cumbersome voice relay, even though he had dialled it up to a speed faster than most humans would be able to cope with.

‘Here we are,’ Jim said, and Spock became aware that the cab had stopped. ‘No, don’t worry, Spock. I’ll come round and open it.’

Spock continued to run his hands over the interior of the door. It was a source of constant frustration to him that every make and model of air car and skimmer seemed to have their door releases in different places and different formats. Some were almost impossible to find with a fingertip search, and occasionally he had a very human urge to simply punch the door open.

In this case, Jim was around the other side of the car and had opened the door before Spock had managed to find the catch, murmuring to him about watching his head as he got out. He was struck with a thought that repeatedly assailed him at times of stress; that this was intolerable; that no one could be expected to function like this.

His self-absorption was abruptly derailed by a flurry of feet. Peter was running towards them, calling out, ‘Uncle Jim! Uncle Spock! Grandma never told me you were coming!’

The joy in his voice was completely genuine, and Spock was taken aback by such a profession of pleasure at his arrival. He heard Jim grunt as if something had struck him in the solar plexus, and understood the sound as Peter turned to him and favoured him with a tight and sudden hug.

‘Petey, Petey,’ Jim was laughing, and Spock said quietly, ‘Young man,’ in the hope of impressing some calm upon him.

‘Grandma’s got coffee on and she’s baking cookies. Come inside!’

Spock found his hand taken by a small human one, and followed the pull inside, grateful for Jim’s hand on his other arm and his murmured warnings as Pete took him up the steps and in through the door. The scent of grass and farmland gave way to coffee and baking, and he relaxed as if he were coming home.


	19. Chapter 19

Jim’s gaze kept slipping to Spock as they sat around the big wooden table in the kitchen. Mom was talking to him, and Pete kept interrupting, talking nine to the dozen when he was allowed, but still Jim kept looking at Spock. The Vulcan looked relatively relaxed on the wooden chair. He was seated nearest the stove, which was giving out a little heat. It was fuelled entirely by modern means, but the concept of the range at the heart of the house was entirely antique. Jim suspected his mother had fired the thing up in anticipation of Spock’s arrival, since she had been so solicitous about having him sit closest to it, and Spock certainly seemed to appreciate the warmth. He noticed, too, that the mug that Spock’s hands were curled around was the very same one of dad’s that Spock had broken during their first visit. Evidently mom had had it fixed, and she was showing her trust and acceptance of Spock by giving it to him again. It made Jim happy to see how accepted Spock was in his family home. Even though he knew his mother to be a tolerant and kind person, there was always a sense of nervousness at introducing a partner into the family, and especially so since that partner was of another species.

‘Would you like a cookie, Spock?’ Jim’s mom asked, pushing the plate over towards him. Spock made as if to demur, and she added quickly, ‘They’re sugar free.’

The Vulcan hesitated. Jim knew he was warring between his natural inclination to refuse food unless actually hungry, and his desire to please Jim’s mother. After a moment he reached out his hand toward the plate and carefully took one of the biscuits. Jim smiled to see him warily taking a small bite, but he could sense the Vulcan’s reaction almost immediately.

‘I told you mom makes the best cookies this side of Alpha Centauri,’ he said with a grin.

Spock’s eyebrow rose. ‘I don’t believe you have ever said any such thing, Jim.’

Jim pressed his hands over his face at Spock’s relentless honestly, but his mom laughed.

‘I’m just glad you like them, Spock.’

Spock nodded, but Jim could tell that despite the Vulcan’s meticulous attention to his surroundings and the people in the room, his mind was still working on the problem of the Orions. He wondered if there were a way to give Spock some time alone so that he could focus entirely on the problem.

‘Jim, why don’t you go for a walk with Spock around the farm while I’m busy with dinner?’ his mom asked suddenly, tracking the direction of her son’s gaze.

‘Mom, we came to see you,’ Jim protested.

‘Nonsense,’ she said briskly. ‘You don’t even have to go back tonight if you don’t want to. You two go on out and look around. The fresh air’ll be good for you.’

Jim didn’t bother to argue that San Francisco had plenty of fresh air – mom had always asserted that nothing beat Iowa air. Finally Jim acquiesced, and a few minutes later he found himself outside with Spock in the warm sunshine, Peter tagging along and running about them like a puppy. As he watched Peter race off around one of the trees he felt a sudden tug in his chest.

‘Spock, did you ever think about having kids?’ he asked rather wistfully.

Spock seemed startled. ‘I – don’t think I’ve had the occasion – ’ he began, and Jim laughed, wondering if he were about to make the Vulcan blush.

‘You know, it would be possible,’ he said, still watching Peter. ‘They’ve got all the technology now. It wouldn’t be that different to the way you were conceived, I’m sure. What do you think our kid would look like?’

He imagined a small child with delicately pointed ears, perhaps with dark-blond hair, with Spock’s delicacy and his own colouring and smile. Would they take after him or Spock in intelligence? In self-control? Would they raise a little Vulcan, or a human elf?

Spock seemed even more uncomfortable. ‘Jim, we are in no position – even if I could not return to the ship, with my blindness I could not – ’

‘Nonsense,’ Jim said briskly. ‘Plenty of blind people have children.’

He stopped, seeing how deeply uncomfortable he was making the Vulcan over a question which was rhetorical at best. He patted a hand onto his back.

‘It doesn’t matter, Spock. Don’t worry about it. The future’s a long way away. Plenty of time.’

‘Yes,’ Spock said distractedly, his ear turned toward where Peter was trying to haul himself up into a tree. ‘Jim, what is Peter doing?’

‘Oh, just climbing. Want to stop for a while? Pete’s happy, the grass is soft, the sun’s hot.’

‘Very well,’ Spock said, poking the cane at the grass about his feet before crouching to carefully feel over the spot where he was to sit. On settling on the grass he promptly got out his padd and slipped the earpiece into his ear, and Jim grinned. So much for taking a walk about the farm. It was just as likely that Spock would be sat there until the sun went down, padd in hand, tracing leads through the vast fleet computer system. He sighed and reclined onto the grass, arms crossed as a pillow behind his head. He lay there listening to the sounds of Petey playing just as he and Sam had, in the same trees that had been climbing frames for them. Somewhere behind his head a bee was buzzing, and he wondered idly if he should warn Spock – but Spock’s hearing was better than his and he knew to be careful of bees and wasps.

The sun eased into his bones in a way it hadn’t by the ocean in San Francisco. He smiled, eyes closed, visualising that small child, his child and Spock’s child, now with jet hair, now with blond, always with pointed ears and up-swept eyebrows, perhaps running about these very fields, running in and out of mom’s farmhouse. Mom would just love that. She had never said anything, but he knew that she wanted him to have kids and despaired of that ever happening with the career that he had chosen. His heart ached at the thought. Spock would make such perfect children, and it was entirely possible, just as he had told the Vulcan, with modern medicine. They did not even need sperm, just a genetic sample to mix in a stripped out donor egg. He and Spock had the financial resources, he thought they had the secure relationship. But he was a starship captain, and yes, Spock was blind. How could it ever work?

The bee was buzzing around his head and the sun pushed through his cheekbones and scalp. He could feel Spock beside him, so close that he was touching. It was immensely reassuring to feel him there. He had been so scared of losing him at Deneva, so scared that he had not been able to process the fear at the time. It was only afterwards that the shock had really settled in, and that was exactly when he had to be strong for Spock.

But Spock was still here. He was damaged, yes. He was fighting so hard against what had been done to him. But he was here. He was here.

He drifted into sleep as Spock did his work beside him and fell into an odd dream where Deneva became conflated with mom’s farm, where Spock had his sight and there was a child up in the trees with delicate pointed ears. Then he caught sight of one of those parasites, then hundreds of the parasites hovering, coming down closer, that odd hum that they made thick in the air. Spock couldn’t see to help the child. Jim couldn’t move. The humming was getting stronger, cloying around him –

He woke with a scream in his throat, flailing, and instantly he knew something was terribly wrong. The farm was gone, and it was dark, utterly dark. He was lying on a hard surface and his arms were dead with pins and needles from lying asleep on them. The air smelt of cleaning fluid and metal and synthetic things, no longer the rich scents of grass and leaves and earth.

Alertness came within seconds and he cried out, ‘Spock? Spock!’

His arms windmilled numbly in the darkness, life shooting back into them painfully as he fumbled about. His fingers knocked senselessly against what felt like deck-plates. He could not find the Vulcan. Worse, he couldn’t sense the Vulcan. Even if Spock were unconscious Jim could usually feel a residual awareness of his mind, a niggling feeling in the back of his own. Now there was nothing. No matter that he himself was in darkness, Spock was blind, and he could not find him.

And Pete! Petey had been with them. He called out sharply, ‘Pete? Peter!’ but there was no more answer from the child than there had been from Spock.

He stayed for a moment on his knees, trying to compose himself as life and feeling throbbed into his hands. Panic wouldn’t help him find Spock. It wouldn’t help him find Peter. First he had to find out where he was, then he had to try to find Spock and Peter. He had to use his senses and try to work out what the hell was going on.

((O))

Spock was aware of Jim slowly slipping into sleep beside him as his weight settled and his breathing slowed. His head lolled sideways against Spock’s thigh, and Spock touched his hand to the soft hair, feeling sparks of dreaming thought through the skull beneath. The temptation to slip into Jim’s mind and share and guide his dreams at these times was great. There was something beautiful and boundlessly imaginative about Jim’s dreams. Perhaps if they had been in privacy he might have done so – Jim would not mind – but here in the open air, with Peter playing nearby, it was inappropriate. Besides, he had work to complete, and while Jim subtly disapproved of Spock working here at the farm while he was awake, asleep he could not possibly mind.

Spock took a moment to listen out for Peter, to be certain he was still safe and playing happily, then turned his attention back to the padd. He was quite capable of working while also keeping some of his awareness on the child.

He recalled how Peter looked, the small aspects of his face that reminded him of Jim. He had only seen him in unconsciousness, but those little resemblances had been plain. How strange it would be were Peter his own. He had spoken the truth to Jim. He had never before considered sharing the privilege of child-rearing with his human partner. What a fascinating experiment it would be to combine his own genetic heritage with Jim’s. What would the child be? Three-quarters human was the first thought that sprang to mind. Could the human elements of his genes be filtered out? Would they, indeed, be filtered out naturally by Vulcan dominance? Most Vulcan genes did prove dominant over human. But would he wish to exclude his graceful, kind mother’s genetics from his child? Would he want Sarek’s occasional arrogance and closed-mindedness to dominate? Perhaps those who protested against genetically manipulated embryos were right. It was too easy to exclude traits based on personal preference and deny life to various types of uniqueness.

Jim’s child... Honey-blond hair and hazel eyes. There was an unaccountable sense of yearning in his chest for a child that would never exist, _should_ never exist. How could they raise a child in their chosen careers? It was a foolish notion. No matter what Jim said, how could he raise a child blind? If, in the worst possible scenario, he were forced to stay on a planet while Jim continued in his career, it might be possible to raise a child in a secure environment, but if he were forced to stay on a planet it would be by his blindness, and how could he then commit to a child?

He clamped down on the growing feeling of resentment and helplessness. Those emotions would do him no good. Anger would not give him sight. Instead he turned his attention fully back to the padd and the labyrinthine computer system where personnel records were held. The codes he had enabled him to access private fleet accounts, and once he had carefully listened to the details of the relevant personnel records he began to dig carefully through the first of those private accounts, starting with the lower ranked of the three. He had a suspicion that their chosen rank may not reflect their level of importance in whatever subterfuge they were participating, and by the results he was starting to dig up he believed that suspicion might be well-founded. The group of three contained a captain, female, and two commanders, both male. It was the older of the two commanders, a Commander Paul Serenson, that held his interest.

The man’s record was exemplary. Not only that, but he had a very concrete and traceable history from his birth on Alpha Centauri, through his various academic accomplishments, his entry to Starfleet, and his subsequent service record. The only blip was a period five months ago when he had been recorded as AWOL for a week after a short period of leave. He had returned with a story of a head injury sustained while hiking, and his record reflected that this story was taken to be true. The other two suspects also had such incidents in their recent records, however, and the doctor on Serenson’s science vessel, the _Isaac Newton II_ , had noted a slight discrepancy in brain patterns on his examination on return. Such a discrepancy could be explained by a severe head injury, but there were too many coincidences for Spock’s liking. He did not believe in coincidences.

H e began to look more closely into the man’s communication records before and after his supposed accident, analysing fluency features, slang, and other subtleties of communication.  There was too much to go through manually. He instructed the padd to begin analysis automatically and slipped it back into his shoulder bag so that he could concentrate on other things. The padd would alert him either when the analysis was finished or any significant discrepancies were found.

He sat for a while with the feeling of Jim’s sleeping head against his thigh. Insects buzzed and occasionally the leaves around him shushed in a light breeze.  He could hear Peter doing something not far away, and then the boy raised his voice, calling, ‘Uncle Jim! Come look at this!’

Spock touched his fingers to Jim’s head again, sensing that he was too deep in sleep to be immediately disturbed. He called out quietly, ‘Peter, your uncle is asleep.’

‘Oh.’ The boy sounded disappointed, but then he brightened up. ‘Oh, Mr Spock, why don’t you come see?’

Spock was about to embark on what he thought to be a rather unnecessary explanation of the impossibility of that, but then he nodded, unfolded his cane, and stood up. The ground was only slightly undulating and mostly free of impediments. He could hear Peter’s movement and breathing not ten yards away.

‘What is it, Peter?’ he asked, walking closer to him.

‘I found a bug, Uncle Spock!’

‘Peter, a bug is specifically a member of an order of insects which possess mouthparts which form a sucking proboscis,’ Spock began. ‘Do you truly believe it to be a bug, or another type of insect?’

‘I don’t know, Uncle Spock. It’s a crawly bug. It’s got – two, four, six legs. It’s green.’

Spock nodded in reply. He was finding this gentle land pleasantly easy to traverse without Jim’s help. He could hear the leaves and the creaking branches of the tree near which Peter was standing, and the sounds of several insects and birds in the locality. There was a surprising feeling of freedom  in this casual movement that reminded him of times before his sight had been taken. He still possessed a mental sense of Jim behind him. He had a sense memory of their path from the house and an idea of where the building stood, and could tell the location of several trees from their sounds. The cane assured him he was not about to tumble down an unexpected slope or be brought up by an object in his path. Certainly he would not be able to look at and identify Peter’s ‘bug,’ but perhaps with a careful description on the boy’s part he would be able to make an accurate guess.

‘Where are you, Peter?’ he asked as he got closer to the boy’s position.

‘Just here, Uncle Spock,’ the boy said.

A small hand caught at his sleeve just as Spock’s padd gave a subtle alarm sound to indicate it had found something of note. No matter. He could examine the data in a moment. It was not going anywhere, and all of Spock’s experience with children, or at least of  _being_ a child, told him that for a proper love of science to be encouraged it was important to give them the attention they craved immediately, rather than to defer that attention. If he asked Peter to wait it was likely the supposed bug would crawl away.

‘Can you describe it, Peter?’ he asked, letting the cane dangle from its wrist loop as the boy’s fingers wove into his own. There was something pleasant in that touch, something that made him think again rather wistfully of Jim’s idea of future offspring.

‘It’s about an inch long, Uncle Spock, and it’s – I think it’s buzzing! No, it’s not the bug. What’s that buzzing?’

Spock’s attention was instantly galvanised  by the sound that Peter had heard. It was not an insect buzzing. He knew without a moment of conscious thought that the sound was a transporter, and that the focus of the beam was his own body, and by the range of the sound probably Peter’s too. Peter was probably totally unaware of the minute cellular vibration. Those thoughts passed through his mind in a tiny portion of a second. Another portion of a second was devoted to deciding on a course of action. An unannounced transport on Earth was seventy-three percent likely to be hostile. He had to make the decision between thrusting Peter away and keeping him close so as to prevent his panic and the field of the beam only partially capturing him either during that thrust or a panicked lurch. Even if he thrust the boy away it was likely that the beam would automatically readjust to encompass his biological mass and he would be captured anyway.

The analysis and decision had taken the blink of an eye. Spock thrust his arms around Peter and held him close, feeling the boy’s speeding heartbeat pattering against his ribs. One hand he held protectively over Peter’s skull, the other spread out on his back. He felt the disassociation truly take hold, the sense of the ground beneath his feet disappeared, there was silence; and then air returned to his lungs, the taint of recycl ed  atmosphere in the scent. The ground reformed beneath his feet, and with the inability to orient himself by sight he stumbled, pitching forwards onto the floor,  with  Peter still clasped against him.

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

[A.N. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve had a total lack of inspiration and ability and I don’t know when it will come back. Please be patient.]

 

The floor was hard and cool beneath Spock’s hands and knees. The air had that distinctive metal tang of a recycled atmosphere that was not catered toward human comfort. There was no noise but that of Peter, panicking. The child was whimpering, rigid and struggling in his arms.

‘Peter. Try to control yourself,’ he said, an unintentional severity in his voice. He needed the child to be quiet so that he could listen. He felt overwhelmed with his own sense of helplessness.

‘Uncle Spock, what happened?’ the boy half-sobbed.

‘I do not know,’ Spock replied grimly. ‘Peter, tell me what you see.’

‘It’s dark,’ the boy whimpered.

Spock held him a little more tightly at that news, settling into a sitting position and clasping his arms about the boy. It was disturbing that the boy could see no more than he could. He could feel Peter’s heart racing under his hands, but he focussed hard on controlling his own reaction to this unpleasant development.

‘Panic will not profit us,’ he said. ‘Peter, I want you to look carefully and be sure that you can see nothing. It may be that your eyes need to adjust to the altered light levels.’

‘I can’t see anything, Uncle Spock,’ the boy wailed. ‘Where are we? What happened?’

Spock took in a breath. He would have to simply deal with the frustration of not knowing whether there was in fact anything to see, or if the boy was correct.

‘We were caught in a transporter beam,’ he said. ‘I have no way of knowing where we are, but I can surmise _why_ we are here.’

‘Why?’ the boy asked.

Spock felt the hardness of his padd in the bag that was still slung over his shoulder.

‘Your uncle and I were involved in some very important work for Starfleet,’ he said, trying to be as discreet as possible in his explanation. ‘I believe I was getting close to discovering something that some – people – did not want discovered.’

‘What people?’

The boy was becoming less panicky as Spock talked, so Spock continued in the hope that it would soothe him further.

‘I cannot say,’ he replied. ‘The information is quite confidential. But suffice to say they are very intelligent and very determined. They must have been monitoring my investigations and decided to remove me – and anyone near me – from the situation as soon as I had penetrated too far into their web of intrigue.’

‘Is Uncle Jim here too?’ Peter asked.

‘I do not know,’ Spock said. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to try to sense if Jim were nearby. There was something there, faint and difficult to read. If Jim was in the locality he was certainly not focussing on the bond. ‘I believe he may be,’ he said, ‘but we were separated by approximately twenty metres. An unskilled operator may not have been able to compensate for that separation, and he may have been beamed to a different area of this – ’

There he stopped, wondering what  _this_ was. A ship perhaps, in Earth orbit? It was possible. The gravity felt perfectly equal to Earth gravity, but that was hardly unusual. He could feel no engine vibration but in the better insulated ships that was not always a feature, and the taste of the air was certainly similar to the recycled air aboard cargo ships and other low-personnel craft. None of that was conclusive, however . It was difficult to beam people up from a planet like Earth without the proper checks and permissions. Of course it was always possible for a beam to go unnoticed,  even though these things were monitored.

He drew his padd out of the bag and turned it on. He did not have his comm, and he did not expect Jim to either. They had taken very little with them on their walk about the farm. The padd, though, was able to connect to the world-net, and through that means he might be able to gain help.

‘What’s that?’ Peter asked, jumping nervously as the padd made a small start-up noise.

‘Merely my datapadd,’ Spock reassured him. He slipped the earpiece in and tried to connect to the world-net, but the smooth computer voice told him, ‘World-net unavailable.’

He sighed. ‘Peter, does the device emit any light?’ he asked, running his hands over the slick surfaces.

‘A bit,’ the boy told him.

‘Can you see anything of use?’

‘I don’t know.’

Spock controlled his frustration, and nodded. He sensed that the more he pushed the boy the more his panic would overwhelm him. His cane was still dangling from his wrist, and he might as well put it to use, since he could not rely on Peter’s help.

‘I am going to investigate,’ he said, and Peter clung harder to his arm, his uncontrolled human emotions battering at Spock’s shields. ‘Peter,’ he said in a low, gentle voice. ‘You must let me go.’

‘Can’t I – can’t I walk with you?’ he asked in a shaking voice.

Spock did not sigh. He only nodded. ‘You may walk with me,’ he said. ‘Tell me if you see anything of use.’

It did not take him long to determine that they were in a small room, roughly three metres square. There were containers pushed up against one wall, and Spock managed to persuade Peter to let him go for long enough to allow him to clamber up onto the containers and run his hands over the wall and what he could reach of the ceiling, searching for any kind of window or vent. There was none. On the opposite side of the room from the containers was a door, but it did not open when Spock approached it and he could feel no catch or lock mechanism. He tried forcing it, but it did not move.

‘Mr Spock – are they ever going to let us out?’ Peter asked finally, in a trembling voice.

Spock was not sure how to answer. This room was unlit and did not seem to be heated. It was entirely possible that they had been beamed to a secure location and would be left to die, but he knew a statement of that kind would lead the boy into greater panic. There was no need to expose him to such a horrifying truth at this time.

‘We will find a way out,’ he said, with a certainty that he did not feel.

He moved back to the door and tried to force it again, pushing with all of his weight against where he thought the internal locking mechanism to be. He could feel a small amount of give, but not enough to make the door open.

He stopped, trembling with the effort, his muscles aching, but he was determined that this would not be hi s last attempt. He stood with his back leaning against the door and closed his eyes, reaching out in his mind to Jim. He could feel him somewhere. He was sure he could feel him. He willed Jim to concentrate, to direct his mind towards his own, but Jim was human and although he was aware of the mindlink he could not actively pursue it in quite the same way as a Vulcan trained in the discipline.

In a decidedly human gesture, he turned around and beat his fists on the door, and called out as loudly as he could, ‘Jim!’

‘Will Uncle Jim hear you?’ Peter asked.

Spock rested his forehead against the door. ‘I do not know,’ he said.

Perhaps it had been an act of desperation, but it was entirely possible that shouting was the only way to reach the captain, if he were in the same place as they were, if he were within hearing distance, if he were not also locked in...

He reached out with his mind again, trying to sense Jim somewhere nearby again. Again he caught that feeling of his closeness, but he could not reach him.

((O))

Jim was moving in the darkness almost at a crawling pace. He had finally found a door to the room he was in, and had prised it open with his fingertips. Now he thought he was in some kind of corridor; at least, it was a space about three paces wide that didn’t seem to have an end.

He felt a stab of empathy for Spock. He had felt a lot of sympathy for him in the past weeks, but here, trapped in utter darkness, he had a real spark of just how Spock must feel. He had gained hints of Spock’s sense of helplessness through the small touches of meld that they shared in their day to day life, but this was something else.

He stopped moving and leant against the wall for a moment. There was no vibration as from an engine, but he felt that he was on a ship. Odd, that. It was hard to beam people up from Earth without going through the proper checks. Earth security systems held a pretty tight check on these things to prevent smuggling of contraband, drugs, and, sadly, people.

That put the Orions back in his mind. The Orions were the biggest slavers in this quadrant of the galaxy, and they seemed to be mixed up to the hilt in this affair that he’d been hired to investigate. They had their tendrils into everything, knew who to bribe, who to threaten, who to eliminate. As a Vulcan, Spock would be very difficult to bribe or threaten, and so elimination was the only resort left. And why else but that would he suddenly find himself beamed up without warning from a nap on his mom’s farm? Spock had had his padd with him. While Jim had been sleeping had Spock stumbled on something of note? Something that had set alarm bells ringing in this network of subterfuge?

What if this were an Orion ship, and they were already en route to a life of slavery? God, how could Spock cope with that? How could Peter? Elimination did not necessarily mean death. It was far more profitable to remove a selected individual and sell him into slavery.

A fire of determination lit within him. He hadn’t been shut in. It was entirely possible that whoever had transported him up hadn’t even know that he had been caught in the beam. He had to find Spock and Peter and somehow they’d get out of this place – wherever it was.

He carried on through the utter darkness of the corridor, hands slipping over the cold wall panels, his feet making empty echoes as they trod the floor. There was a slight curve to the thing, he was sure. For a long time he didn’t encounter any doors, but then he felt the undulations of the wall giving way to doorframe, and he pressed his fingers against it, trying to force this door as he had forced the door of the room he was in. After a time it gave way, and he stumbled into what seemed to be a storage room of sorts, his fingertips throbbing from the effort of opening the door. He ran his hands over shelves and boxes. Everything was lashed down, reinforcing the impression that this was a ship of some kind, but although he managed to prise open some of the boxes he found nothing of use – just packets that may have been anything from dehydrated replicator powder to Class A drugs. He couldn’t tell in the dark.

He left that room and carried on. And then he heard something. Far off there was a sound that pushed into the complete silence of this place. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was Spock’s voice, he was certain of that. He called back, ‘Spock!’ but there was no reply.

He carried on along the corridor, hugging close to the wall, his hands feeling for any doorways. Then the lights snapped on, momentarily blinding him just as much as the dark had. He froze, blinking, trying to regain his sight. Had he tripped a light sensor, or was there someone coming? Where could he hide?

He heard the swoosh of a door and then footsteps coming his way. Luckily the corridor was curved slightly and so he turned and fled, as quietly as possible, hoping to be able to stay far enough in front of the newcomers so as to be able to stay out of sight. It was faster in the light, at least, and as he reached the door of the storeroom this time the door shushed open as he reached it. He slipped inside, and let the door close.

He leant against the wall, listening to the footsteps as they moved closer. It was more than two pairs, but he couldn’t tell how many. Not a troop, but enough to be wary of. They reached the door and carried on past.

Jim gave it a moment then slipped out after them, his heart beating so loudly that he felt instinctively that it must be audible to the people he was following. He stayed just far enough back that the curve of the corridor concealed him from sight, keeping his footfalls silent on the deck plating.

For a moment he sped up so that he could get a glimpse of the people in front of him. He caught sight of dark hair, emerald skin. They weren’t wearing uniforms, but some kind of loose clothing typical to space traders. Orions, certainly. There were five of them, and they were carrying weapons. He would be an idiot to try to take them on, so he hung back and simply followed them as they carried on their way through the ship.

He was grateful to have someone to follow because gradually their path became more labyrinthine as they wound their way further into the ship. And then he started to be aware of something else. He could _feel_ Spock, not in that warm way of simply _being_ that he had become used to, but in a spiked and anxious way. Spock was worried and he was highly focussed on something. That almost made him smile. He knew Spock. If he was focussed on anything it was on getting out of the place he was in. How many times had he seen Spock direct himself entirely on getting out of a place of entrapment? He usually succeeded, too.

That must mean he was closer to him, though. This heightened awareness of him must mean that the Orions were leading Jim straight to the Vulcan. He tried to focus his mind on reaching Spock, but it was almost impossible to keep the focus that he needed as he also tried to keep up with the Orions but stay out of sight.

He stopped the attempt just in time. He hadn’t been fully aware that the Orions had stopped. He jerked himself back just before he moved into sight, and waited, spying carefully round the corner. The five men were clustered around a door, and they seemed to be having trouble opening it. Jim could see odd distortions in the panel, almost as if it had been beaten by something immensely strong.

Finally they got the door open, and Jim’s heart jumped as he saw Spock. He was standing in the doorway with Peter just behind him. Unusually for the Vulcan his hair was untidy. His cane was hanging from one wrist and his hands were held up protectively before him, and Jim saw smears of green blood on his fingers. He had worked so hard to open the door that he had caused himself to bleed. Jim felt a simultaneous surge of affection, anger, and empathy.

For a moment the Orions seemed nonplussed at the sight of the Vulcan, as if they had not been expecting someone so fiercely strong and determined that he would buckle a door in his attempts to escape. Then one of them ordered him away from the door, and Spock retreated without a word. Three of the men followed him inside, and the door closed, leaving two on guard outside.

Jim clenched his fists at his sides. He hated this feeling of helplessness, but there was nothing he could do. He made up his mind to control himself, to stay still and listen. If the Orions were intending on putting Spock into slavery they wouldn’t kill him on a simple visit to his place of imprisonment. If he heard any sign of Spock being in distress he would risk an attack on the two at the door, but otherwise he had to stay calm and patient, and wait for the right moment to act.

  
  



	21. Chapter 21

[A.N. I’m sorry this is coming so slowly. I have a lot of life things going on right now, plus a computer that’s steadily falling apart.]

 

Peter had become still and quiet in the dark room, and Spock found it hard to get any response from him. After a while he left him alone. The boy was exhausted and frightened, and Spock needed to focus on the current situation. He was fully aware of the boy’s distress and how difficult this must be for him considering his recent history, but he could do nothing to help him. Perhaps a human would have spent time hugging the boy and reassuring him, but Spock felt intensely uncomfortable at the idea, and there was little logic in attempting reassurance which would be easily detected as reluctant at best.

He continued to work on the door, prising at the edges with his fingers until pain throbbed in his fingertips. Occasionally he mustered his energy to slam his fists into the surface. He could feel it buckling but the lock held firm. Frustration battered at his disciplines, but he channelled the emotion into the muscles of his arms as he beat at the sheet metal. He banged it hard two, three, four times. When he ran his palms over it he could feel the distortions in the metal, but it was still solid in its frame.

He stopped, steadying the shaking in his arms. ‘Peter?’ he asked quietly, and was reassured to hear the boy reply, ‘Yes, Uncle Spock?’

Spock nodded. ‘I was simply assuring myself that you are all right.’

‘I’m okay,’ Peter replied, but to Spock’s ears he sounded far from it. Perhaps his logical efforts to break out of the room were disturbing the boy.

He walked carefully away from the door towards Peter’s voice.

‘Peter, I cannot assure you that we will come out of this safely,’ Spock told him in a low voice. He reached out until his hand touched the boy’s shoulder. ‘But I can assure you that I shall do everything in my power to protect you.’

‘Okay, Uncle Spock,’ the boy said in a small voice.

Spock was aware that he statement had not been precisely what a human might say, but he was averse to giving the boy something that was not as close as possible to the truth. How else would Peter trust him in future?

He tightened his fingers over the boy’s shoulder, imparting a feeling of warmth in a kind of wordless telepathy. He had meant precisely what he said. He did not have the foolishness or pride to think that he could protect the boy against everything, especially in his current state, but he would do what he could. He knew it was entirely possible that the Orions would kill the boy if they believed him to be useless or too much trouble, and he would do everything in his power to prevent that.

‘Peter, I must speak to you on a very important matter,’ he said in a low voice, turning himself to sit beside the boy on the floor. ‘I must be frank with you. You must trust that I am telling you the truth, and I want you to do your best to comply with my instructions.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the boy murmured.

Spock felt sideways until he touched the child’s arm again.

‘Peter, the probability is that we have been abducted by Orions,’ Spock said. ‘Are you aware of the nature of those peoples?’

‘Dad – ’ Peter began. He seemed to swallow, then continued, ‘Dad used to tell me about them being pirates. He didn’t tell me much. He said they do bad things. Said he’d tell me when I was older.’

‘He was correct,’ Spock said. There was no use in masking the truth. ‘Your father was right to not tell you the full depths of the Orions’ crimes, but it is important that you know more about them. Did he tell you that the Orions practice slavery?’

‘Uhuh,’ the boy nodded. Spock could feel the movement against him. Peter was leaning in against his arm as if the closeness could protect him.

‘The Orions have been known to enslave even the very young,’ Spock said frankly. ‘But they are also known to dispose of those who are no use to them. They will kill anyone who cannot be of service to them, since the dead cannot give evidence. Peter, I want you to be certain to comply completely with our captors, if they come to us. Do not be defiant. Do not raise your voice. Be obedient and tractable. In this way you may be allowed to keep your life.’

He could feel the tremor now in the boy’s body. After a moment Peter asked, ‘What’s  _tractable_ ?’

‘To be tractable is to be easily controllable. Obey them, Peter, even if they ask you to act against me. Do not show defiance. At some point we may find an opportunity for escape, but one cannot escape when one is dead. Do you understand this?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Peter said, his voice very small and scared. ‘Will you be tractable too, Uncle Spock?’

Spock pressed his lips together. The idea was unpleasant to him, even though he recognised its logic. Besides, to protect Peter he had to stay alive himself.

‘I will act according to logic,’ he said carefully. He was not about to bind himself to any other single course of action. He was not certain that he might not be just as vulnerable as Peter. What would the Orions make of a blind captive? He could not believe himself useful in his current state, what he had to believe was now his permanent state.

He froze suddenly, listening. He was certain that he could hear footsteps.

‘Peter, someone is approaching,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I want you to remember what I have said to you.’

To his consternation the boy suddenly burst into tears and started moaning, ‘I want my mom. I want my mommy...’

Spock tightened his hand on Peter’s arm, but he did not know what to do. Aurelan was dead. Peter knew that, so stating the obvious to him would not help. He imagined that the obvious would be particularly inflammatory at this time.

‘Peter, it would be far better for you to be calm,’ he said, but the boy seemed beyond listening. ‘Peter,’ he said more firmly. There was no response.

There was a change in the room. He was not sure how he could tell that a light had been switched on, but he was certain that it had, despite the fact that there was no change in the darkness. Perhaps it was the slight change in electrical fields, or a minute increase in warmth. He stood up and moved closer to the door, holding his hands up before himself in a degree of self-protection. Immediately Peter got up and followed him, sniffling and trying to stifle his sobs, and Spock positioned himself in front of the boy as he heard noises of someone attempting to open the door. He gained an illogical degree of satisfaction from the trouble they had, but finally it slid open. He felt disconcertingly vulnerable as a number of people entered the room and the door shut again.

‘This is the Vulcan, then,’ one of them said, a male.

Spock focussed intently on the sounds for a moment, trying to assess how many people were in the room. He thought he could hear the breathing and movement of three people, probably all male. He was certain there were more outside. The breathing patterns and the scents of Orions were not something he had paid particular attention to before, but now, close in their presence and without the benefit of sight, he felt he recognised them as being peculiar to the species. Orions did not sweat precisely as humans did, or secrete the same pheromones.

He did not speak, waiting, instead, for his captors to address him. Silently, he hoped for Peter to stay silent too.

‘What is this?’ the same male said again, grabbing at the cane that was hanging from his wrist and taking it from him. His padd was treated in the same manner. He did not try to resist, since there was little point. He didn’t know if these people had weapons, but it was highly likely, and even if they did not he did not believe he could fight three persons without sight.

‘You remember what was said,’ another male said in a low voice. ‘The Vulcan is without sight. Some kind of incident on his ship. That’s why he’s on Earth.’

‘And what about this snivelling brat?’

Spock felt Peter cringe closer behind him.

‘He was in the radius of the beam. You know that Thelor is not well trained in fly-by beam-ups.’

And that explained it sufficiently to Spock. The Orions had evidently cut in close enough to Earth to beam him up but had not slowed to a safe speed, resulting in a swift but unfocussed beam-up that had probably gone unnoticed by the authorities. It was entirely possible that Jim was on the ship too, and that the Orions had no idea that he was here.

‘All right, Vulcan,’ the first male said, planting a palm in the centre of his chest and pushing him backwards. ‘Let’s have a discussion about this little matter.’

Spock stumbled against Peter, and was gratified when the boy grabbed at his arm to steady him. He was grateful both for Peter’s assistance, and that the boy made no show of resistance.

‘I do not understand what you mean,’ Spock said in a level voice as he resettled his footing on the deck.

‘Don’t play dumb, Vulcan,’ the Orion snarled. ‘We’ve got your padd. Our people were monitoring you and we know exactly what you found.’

‘In that case you hardly need to speak to me about it,’ Spock said.

‘Take this up to Ahnev,’ the Orion said to someone else. ‘He can go through it all and find out exactly what the Vulcan found. But now, Vulcan, _you_ tell me how far you got. Did you tell anyone of what you discovered?’

Spock had only a millisecond to cogitate his reply. He had not contacted anyone about what he had discovered – and what he had discovered was just how deep and wide the conspiracy within Starfleet was. He had found a list of personnel on the traitors’ payroll, either those planted in place of honest Starfleet employees who had been removed, those whose qualifications and positions were entirely fabricated, or those who were sympathetic to the dissidents’ cause. He had also discovered an intriguing link between most of those people – that very many of them had expressed opinions in favour of going to war with the Klingons over a number of relatively obscure but disputed planets. A warmongering Starfleet, and by inference a warmongering Federation, would be organisations that the Vulcans would be quick to step away from. Although Spock knew that a large amount of Vulcans believed an independent Vulcan would be a positive thing, he was certain that such a separation would be catastrophic not only for the Federation, but also for the Vulcans themselves, who often needed the tempering effect of the more emotional members to soften their interactions with the galaxy at large.

Would it help him in any way to make his captors believe that he had passed that information on? He had no communications device with him, so they would be relatively certain that he had called no one. He could say that he had contacted someone via his padd, but they would be able to discern the truth of that statement with relative ease.

‘No,’ he said, without a noticeable pause. ‘I have told no one.’

‘Is he lying?’ another man asked rather nervously. ‘They can’t lie, can they?’

Spock felt a spark of reaction in Peter and remembered their brief conversation on the road outside Jim’s mother’s farm about Vulcans’ ability to lie. Now was not the time for the boy to remark on it, though. It was always better to have people believe in Vulcans’ truthfulness. He moved a hand backwards to touch the boy’s shoulder and carefully project a quelling feeling.

‘We can find that out,’ the first Orion said in a rather ominous tone.

There was a rush, and Spock suddenly found himself pushed backwards, a hand at his throat, the Orion very close now, and hissing in his face.

‘Tell me, Vulcan, can you lie?’

Spock’s attention sharpened down to two things – the hand on his throat, and where Peter was in the room. The boy had been knocked aside in the flurry, but Spock could hear him breathing. He wanted to lift his hands to prise the Orion’s grip from his throat but he had no idea what weapons they might have, so he stayed frozen.

‘I am not lying,’ he rasped, and the grip loosened a little.

‘We can find that out,’ the Orion said again.

Abruptly the hand released him and he was suddenly doubled up by a fist slamming into his abdomen. He curled away, trying to protect himself as blows rained down, trying to keep an awareness of Peter, forcing himself not to allow anger to erupt and fight back, an action which might result in his and Peter’s deaths.

The blows stopped as abruptly as they had started, and the men left the room. Spock stayed on his side for a moment, curled about himself, trying to catch his breath and carefully suppress the pain through his body. Orions were as unpredictable as humans, and it seemed they were just as liable as humans to unleash their violence with very little provocation. He wondered what the Orion had meant by his repeated statement,  _we can find that out._ There had been a tone to the man’s voice that Spock had not enjoyed.

He lay in the intense quiet of the room for some time before Peter crept close to him and said, ‘Are you all right, Uncle Spock? Did they hurt you bad?’

Spock exhaled slowly, and sat up, suppressing the ripples of pain in arms and stomach and ribs and legs.

‘I am all right, Peter,’ he said.

‘The light’s off again,’ Peter said, his voice quavering a little. He was silent, then said in a rush, ‘When they hit you I hid behind the boxes. I’m sorry I didn’t help you. I’m sorry...’

Spock reached out to the boy and lifted him onto his own lap, closing his arms about his torso and giving him more comfort than he had felt able to do before.

‘Your actions were perfectly logical,’ he told him in a low voice. ‘You could not have stopped them. If you had interfered you quite probably would have been hurt very badly.’

Peter was silent for a time again, as if cogitating that. ‘What did they mean when they said they could find out if you were lying?’ he asked after a while.

‘I don’t know,’ Spock said simply.

They fell into silence again. Spock continued to hold the boy firmly, and Peter relaxed against him.

‘I need to pee,’ the boy said after a while. ‘I need to go so bad...’

Spock resisted a sigh. ‘You will have to use the corner of the room,’ he said. ‘There is no other option.’

He released his arms and Peter got up off him. After a few stumbling sounds he heard liquid hissing against the wall, and caught the warm scent. He hoped they would not be confined to this room without facilities for too much longer, or it would become quite unpleasant.

There was a tapping at the door. Spock stiffened immediately, then got up and moved across the room. As he leant closer he heard, ‘Spock?’

‘Jim!’

The joy flamed up in him before he could control it. He pressed his palm against the door and immediately felt Jim as closer to him. Jim must be touching the door too.

‘I can’t get it open, Spock,’ Jim said, his voice muffled. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I am acceptable,’ Spock said, wondering if Jim had heard or sensed the brief pummelling to which he had been subjected.

‘What about Pete? Is Pete in there?’

‘He is,’ Spock replied. Peter had come across the room at the sound of his uncle’s voice, and now the boy called out, ‘I’m here, Uncle Jim. I’m all right, but they beat Spock up real good.’

‘I am all right, Jim,’ Spock said quickly in response to Jim’s sudden spike of alarm. He carefully suppressed his response to the worst of the bruising so that Jim would not feel it in his mind. He was speaking the truth. He was all right. He was quite acceptable. He had suffered worse in the past and his injuries would not impede him in any way. Jim would see it differently, however.

‘You’re right, Spock. They are Orions,’ Jim said, apparently choosing not to challenge Spock on his state of health.

‘Evidently,’ Spock replied.

‘I can’t get you out of here, Spock,’ Jim said. ‘There’s no way to force the lock. I think it’s locked in to their bio-readings or something.’

‘I would suggest you focus on other avenues,’ Spock said seriously. ‘It’s obvious they don’t know you’re here. That is to our advantage.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Jim replied, his voice grim. ‘I can’t do anything here.’

Spock pressed his palm against the door again. He felt that Jim’s hand was just there on the other side, mirroring his.

‘I will look after Peter,’ he promised.

‘I’ll be back,’ Jim said. ‘I’m going to go look around some more, and I’ll be back. I think the crew here is minimal. If I can get you out of there we might be able to take the ship.’

‘Jim, I am blind,’ Spock said gravely. He knew Jim would not have forgotten that fact, but in his eagerness and drive he might have forgotten all the that meant.

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Spock,’ Jim said in reply.

Spock pressed his lips together. He hesitated for a moment before leaning his forehead against the cool panel of the door. In the dark Peter would not be able to see that moment of weakness. He reached out with his mind to Jim’s.

_My_ t’hy’la,  _what would you have me do?_ he thought, his thoughts as clear as spoken words in Jim’s mind.

He saw Jim’s wordless reply, an image of Spock armed with a phaser and by his side, Peter safe behind them or hidden away. Even without sight Spock could fire a phaser. He could aim towards sounds. He could be a force to be reckoned with. In Jim’s mind Spock seemed larger, stronger, fiercer. It made Spock smile inside his mind to see the faith that Jim had in him, no matter how it might be misplaced.

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

Jim stood still outside the door for a moment longer than he needed to, just basking in the closeness of Spock. Even behind a cold locked door he could feel his warmth, a psychical feeling that spread through his entire body.

_This is why Starfleet discourage crew relationships_ , he reminded himself. His life and his soul was locked behind that door and the longer he stayed here thinking about it the more chance there was of discovery. If he had a hope of getting Spock and Peter out of here he needed to act.

It was dark again in the corridors, the utter dark of a space without windows, without any proximity to natural light. The light had gone off at some time while he was talking to Spock, and he had been so focussed on the Vulcan that he had not noticed.

He needed to get out of this space to somewhere he could see, somewhere he could find some way to save all their lives. He started walking away from the room again, trying to commit his path to memory so he could find his way back. At first he followed the direction the Orions had gone in, but after a short time there was no way of telling which path they had followed, so he struck out on his own, feeling his way through corridors chill with the cold of space. The Orions didn’t bother pumping too much extra heat into rarely used spaces.

It was half an hour before he found his way out of the maze of pitch dark corridors. A door opened, and suddenly he was blinking in full light again, almost blinded by the contrast. For a moment he froze, afraid that with light would come humanoid presence, but there was no one in this gently curving corridor. He carried on with great caution, relishing in the light while simultaneously feeling a stab of pity for Spock, who was permanently trapped in the darkness that he had just left.

Now he could see, there was a wealth of information for his mind to process. The labels near the doors were in Standard, so this was not a definitely Orion ship. Perhaps it was multi-species, perhaps hired? The curve of the corridors gave him an idea of how big it was, the colours and décor told him its age. The thing was probably about fifty years old, nothing sprightly and new. Where there was age, often there was vulnerability.

He stopped at the first computer outlet that he found, neatly tucked away in a small room off the corridor. It wasn’t only Spock who had computer qualifications. He couldn’t approach the Vulcan’s genius, but he knew enough to hack into a machine without, if not leaving no traces, at least not being detected at the time. He sat down at the small chair, feeling uneasy all the while, one ear alert for any crew who might come in. First he prised the front panel off, then he disconnected the wire that connected this terminal to others in the ship, hoping that would stop any alerts from sounding.

‘Computer,’ he said in a half-whisper.

After a moment of soft whirring, a voice replied in Standard, ‘Awaiting input.’

‘Computer, what is ship’s destination and speed?’

‘Craft entering orbit of Pluto at quarter sublight speed.’

Jim bit his lip into his mouth, cogitating that. It was reassuring that they weren’t heading out of the system but Pluto was on the far side of the sun from Earth at the moment, and it was often used as a last base before exiting the system unnoticed.

‘What is the crew complement of the ship?’ he asked.

‘Crew complement is twenty seven individuals at this time.’

A thought of Spock drifted into his mind and he felt momentarily flushed with the closeness. He had to push it away, though. He had to think. What had the computer said? Twenty-seven... That could be manageable with the right weapons and tactics. He wanted to ask about weapons, but he was afraid that would ring alarm bells.

‘Computer, show schematic of the ship,’ he ordered.

A blueprint appeared on the screen, wavered, and then steadied. The ship was a saucer configuration with nacelles attached tightly beneath. There was no separate engineering section such as the  _Enterprise_ had. It was light, fast, and highly manoeuvrable, as he would expect for a ship run by Orions. There was nothing that he could see in any of the details the computer had presented  which would link the ship to the Vulcans, but of course that was also to be expected. Both sides were quite clever enough to hide any such links.

He touched his finger to the screen, tracing it over the various deck plans, trying to work out where might be the best place to find a weapon. There was no way of telling through this schematic where the crew might be at the present time. If they had been  concentrated in one area it might make things easier, but as it was they could be anywhere. A certain amount were sure to be on the bridge, but he didn’t like the thought of other men wandering about if he didn’t know where they were.  He thought he could tell where it was Spock was being held, four decks down from the bridge in an area used mostly for storage. The engine rooms were one floor below, along with Auxiliary Control. There was a possibility there for being able to take the ship by stealth.

He sat there for a moment letting the image of the ship burn into his mind. He didn’t have a photographic memory, but he could recall things with a high degree of accuracy.  _Spock would be proud_ , he thought with a smile. He couldn’t let himself think of Spock though, not as anything more than a crewmate who needed helping. If he let his tangled emotions loose in that area he would lose efficiency. For a moment he reached out towards Spock’s mind, and then he stopped himself. He reattached the wire he had detached from the computer, snapped the panel back on, and switched the console off. Rather than head for the bridge, as the gung-ho part of him wanted to, he would go down toward the engine rooms. Perhaps he would find something on the way that he could use as a weapon.

((O))

Spock sat with his back against a crate, working at suppressing the throbbing pain from the beating he had received. He did not want Peter to become alarmed at the thought of his injuries, which were by no means serious, but were giving him a certain amount of discomfort. The boy, with his very human lack of control, would probably not be able to understand that Spock was perfectly capable of ignoring his injuries if necessary.

He wondered what Jim was doing. He reached out tentatively with his mind but all he could sense was that the captain was closely focussed on something, possibly a computer, and he did not want to distract him, so he withdrew and brought himself back to the current situation. He felt restless. No doubt McCoy would tease him about that perceived emotion, which was actually a logical response to his captivity. The complacent did not escape.

He got to his feet, suppressing the sharp pains in his abdomen and legs.

‘Uncle Spock?’ Peter asked in a small voice.

‘There is nothing to worry about,’ Spock said. He considered the truthfulness of that statement. There was nothing to worry about in his rising to his feet, but the larger situation was very worrying indeed.

He found himself back at the door, feeling over its surface with his fingertips. There was little use in that, he knew. His fingers were already raw and he had found no place to gain purchase so that he could pull the thing open. At least now he knew for certain that Jim was on board and undetected, and was working on the problem. Nevertheless, he wanted to be acting of his own accord, not waiting for Jim.

He ran his fingers up and down the opening edge of the door. He could feel where the latch locked it closed. He could not explain how, but there was a difference under his fingertips. It was of no help, though. He could not force it no matter how hard he pushed at the panel.

He stopped pushing and clenched his fists together and hit at a spot just above the latch instead. He felt a very slight give, so he tried again, and again, taking care not to hit so hard that he broke his fingers. It was because he was beating at the door that he did not hear the footsteps outside, until his own banging was matched by another, and he was warned to step back from the door.

Warily, he dropped his hands and stepped back. It was harder for them to open the door this time than it had been last time. He must have done more damage. But instead of coming into the room a hand grasped at his arm and pulled him forwards. Stumbling, he followed the pull from the well of darkness in the room to the darkness outside.

‘You come with me, Vulcan,’ a flat male voice said. ‘Boy, stay there.’

Spock felt Peter’s fear surge at being left alone, but to give him credit he made no noise. Spock moved out into the corridor and moved where he was pushed, since he could do little else. He was certain his guard had a weapon, and there was more than one pair of feet accompanying him.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked in a steady voice.

‘You’ll find out. We said we’d find out if you were lying.’

Spock pressed his lips together, and continued walking. He had never grown to feel content with walking in darkness when those around him were walking in light, and in this situation, being manhandled by the  Orion who had hold of his arm, was far worse than normal. He missed his cane, despite his unease at relying on the device.

He pushed down his insecurities and tried to concentrate on his surroundings instead, trusting that the man holding his arm would, if not guide him, at least shove him in the right direction. Instead he took in the subtleties of the temperature, the taste of the air, the sound of the footsteps echoing in the corridor, and the myriad of small sounds behind that that at the moment held no meaning for him, but might be useful to recall at some point. He was taken in to an elevator and  then  into another corridor, and then into a room which startled him so much that he missed his step and stumbled. The place  was warm, and smelt of Vulcan incense. More than that, it smelt of  _a Vulcan_ . Most would never notice it. Vulcans did not smell as strongly as humans. To Spock, however, the scent was as distinctive as  _t’lar_ blossom in the summer.

He stopped walking and stood very still, his head slightly to one side.

‘Leave him with me,’ an aged Vulcan voice said crisply.

Spock knew better than to show shock on his face. He had known that Vulcans were involved in this conspiracy, and that knowledge unsettled him more deeply than he would admit. He had never thought to actually come across a Vulcan on this ship, though. He had thought they would all be well away from the action, possibly directing it without even leaving their home planet.

‘Shall I leave a guard?’ the Orion holding Spock’s arm asked. His fingers were still tight around Spock’s biceps.

‘No need. He’s hardly a danger,’ the Vulcan said.

The fingers slowly uncurled. Spock could feel the Orion’s reluctance. Vulcans, especially the elder ones, habitually underestimated those they considered different. Perhaps this would work in his favour.

As the Orions left the room Spock stood very still, unaware of what might be around him. This room smelt and felt like quarters rather than anything more utilitarian, but that was all that he could tell. There was probably a firepot somewhere, considering the scent of incense, and he did not want to knock it. Fire on a ship was always a danger.

‘Sit down, Spock,’ the Vulcan said.

‘Stolk, you are very aware that I am blind,’ Spock replied. He would not beg to be taken to a chair.

‘Ah, then the student recalls the master,’ Stolk said in a voice that betrayed no surprise, or indeed any other emotion.

‘I recall you very well,’ Spock said.

He had recognised the voice the instant the man had spoken. In his half-human way he had never liked Stolk, and Stolk had never seemed to like him, always giving him harder tasks and higher goals than the pure-bred Vulcans. Amanda had sympathised with Spock’s dislike. Sarek had not understood it, and Spock had the passing thought that if more Vulcans could understand such things then men such as Stolk might not find it so easy to rise to a position of power in a plot to destabilise the Federation. Stolk had risen from humble teacher of teenage Vulcans, to sitting on the Council of ShiKahr, to sitting in the High Council alongside T’Pau. Spock would never have elected such a man to such a position, and now it was clear to him that his distaste for Stolk had been quite well-founded.

‘I know you are blind, Spock. I knew from the moment I discovered your human lover had been assigned to investigate my people’s work and that you were at his side like a _le-matya_ in heat. I wondered why you weren’t there in uniform, assigned officially, and I discovered you had let your emotion and impatience overwhelm you in the course of your duties and had paid for it with your eyes. I repeat, sit down. If you are Vulcan at all, you will be able to find a chair, I am sure.’

Again there was a distinct lack of emotion in the man’s voice, but Spock could read clearly enough through his words the emotion that he would deny. Stolk had always despised the thought of Vulcan blood mixing with any other, and Spock was the embodiment of that.

If he was to sit it would seem he would have to find a chair. He stood for a moment deciding whether he would rather refuse to sit, or be seen fumbling around himself. Stolk was correct in that his Vulcan senses allowed him to be more aware of air currents and obstacles than a human might be, but there was nothing so clear in those air currents that would tell him whether he were facing a chair, a bed, or any other low obstacle.

‘I would rather stand,’ he said after a moment. This way he was spared the fumbling, and perhaps Stolk’s estimation of him would sink even lower since he was tacitly admitting his inability to find a chair. He had no problem with that, since it was only to his advantage.

‘Of course,’ Stolk said, rising himself.

The man was silent for a while, and Spock stood in equal silence, waiting. Then Stolk said, ‘I am told that you had come far enough in your investigations to prove a danger to us. Not, I think, so far that you had identified me, but far enough. I want you to tell me more about what you have found.’

‘You have my padd,’ Spock said implacably.

‘Yes, and your padd is encrypted as you are quite aware,’ Stolk replied. ‘We know what you were pulling through the datastream from the world net, but we cannot access your personal information.’

Spock lifted an eyebrow, gratified to hear that his encryption had been beyond the ability of the Orions, and also, it seemed, of Stolk. Stolk had been a teacher of mind arts, not computing.

‘I do not understand why you think I would want to tell you what I have found out,’ he commented.

‘There is your companion, the boy,’ Stolk pointed out. ‘Your lover’s nephew, I think.’

‘Are you threatening the boy with harm?’ Spock asked. ‘That is not in accordance with the teachings of Surak.’

‘Surak taught logic.’

‘He also taught compassion, and mercy,’ Spock reminded his former teacher. ‘He taught us that it is wrong to cause unnecessary suffering and to harm those weaker than ourselves.’

Stolk stepped a little closer. Spock could smell the warmth of his breath and feel the bulk of the man near him.

‘Surak taught logic above all else,’ Stolk repeated.

‘Then why do you believe I would bow to your threats? More is at stake than the life of one boy,’ Spock said reasonably.

‘Because you are half-human. Because you align yourself to the weaker elements of Surak’s discipline, as do all of our race who have chosen to consort with humans.’

Was that emotion there in Stolk’s voice? There was something of a sibilant hiss in his words now.

‘That is a matter of opinion,’ Spock said, straightening his pose and locking his hands behind his back. ‘What you consider to be weakness, may in fact be strength.’

‘I will ask you once again, Spock. Will you tell me more about what you have found, and remove the encryption on your padd so that we may see your data?’

‘I will not,’ Spock replied plainly.

‘Then I invite you again to sit,’ Stolk said.

This time he did not try to persuade Spock to find a chair himself, but took hold of his arm and physically pushed him backwards. Spock reached out behind himself as his calves stumbled against a hard edge, and Stolk took advantage of his imbalance to push him back into a chair which was hard and felt as if it were made of some kind of moulded resin.  Spock leant back in the chair, and waited.

‘This can be easy for you, Spock, or it can be hard,’ Stolk said, bringing himself down to Spock’s level. ‘You can open your mind, or it can be opened for you.’

A coldness ran through Spock’s body at that threat. He knew now what Stolk meant to do. The act of a forced meld would be unthinkable for most Vulcans, but then so would plotting to destabilise such beneficial organisations as Starfleet and the Federation.

‘I will not open my mind willingly to your predation,’ Spock said flatly. ‘If you are truly a Vulcan, you will not force yourself on me.’

Stolk had touched his mind many times during those unpleasant lessons when he had been a teenager and although he had permitted it he had never felt willing. It was logical to submit to a teacher, and while it was acceptable for a pupil to request a teacher who was a good mental fit, Sarek would have been mortified if Spock had rejected someone of Stolk’s calibre. So Spock had gone to his lessons with Stolk and submitted to his touch, and had always left feeling sullied in some way. Now he was back in the room with the man the feeling of taint rose in him again. As illogical as it may be, he could not shake it off, and he would not willingly let Stolk into his mind again.

‘Logic above all else, Spock. I would advise you to submit,’ Stolk said, coming very close to him again.

Spock clenched his fists at his side.

‘I will not open my mind willingly to your predation,’ he repeated.

Nevertheless, Stolk’s fingertips touched his face with sudden heat, and Spock felt the flash of the Vulcan’s mind burn into his.


	23. Chapter 23

There was very little logic in Spock’s next actions. He was sure that Surak would not approve. As Stolk’s fingers touched his face he exploded in mind and body, mentally rejecting the mind touch even as he brought his hands up to push the Vulcan away from him. Taken by surprise, Stolk staggered backwards and Spock heard a crash as he careered into something on the other side of the room. As Spock had suspected, Stolk had never expected any kind of physical resistance from someone that he considered to be beneath him in so many ways.

He heard the Vulcan mutter something under his breath, and the vindictive thought passed briefly through his mind that Stolk was not so unemotional now. His mind felt ragged and turbulent from the brief assault and the effort with which he had rejected it, but he needed to control the surging emotion. He pushed the vindictive thought away. He needed to concentrate and an emotional sense of triumph would not help.

He held up his hands before him, aware of Stolk coming back across the room like an angered beast. As the Vulcan rammed into him Spock smashed his forearm into the man’s face, sending him reeling again with a sudden copper scent of blood. There was another clatter and the scent of incense and fire billowed into the room. Spock followed the sound of Stolk’s body and grabbed hold of him, lifting him up and slipping his hand to the juncture of neck and shoulder to apply the nerve pinch. Stolk tried to wrench away, but Spock held him still with strength born of primitive fury, and suddenly the other man sagged. Spock dropped him. With Stolk’s unconsciousness he suddenly felt a void in his mind, and peace and calm descended.

He turned his attention to that scent of fire. There was no flicker in his vision, a fact that always felt wrong, but he could feel the heat. If this were a traditionally dressed Vulcan room there would be plenty of fabric here, and Spock had to hope that it had been treated with fire retardants. Finding the wall his hands pressed against thick, strong drapes. He ripped a length of fabric down and used it to smother the firepot before any of the ship’s fire defences could come into force. He could not risk alarms being set off.

There was silence in the room. The air was wreathed with the mingled scent of incense and fading smoke. Spock knelt very still on the floor and listened. If there were guards outside and they had heard the commotion, he could anticipate a beating or worse. But there was no sound. He could not even hear sounds from Stolk where he lay on the floor. Spock began to feel for him with large circles of his hand on the floor. He had completely lost his bearings in the fight.

He encountered scattered possessions, a turned over chair. After a little time he found the Vulcan lying crumpled on the floor. Spock moved his hands over the body, aware that he could hear no sound of breathing. He could feel no heartbeat either. He moved his hand up to Stolk’s face and touched his fingers lightly to his cheek. There was nothing in his mind. Stolk was dead.

The shock of that peaked sharply in him, and then settled. He ran his hands over the Vulcan’s face and down the back of his neck. His head was at an unnatural angle to his body, and when Spock moved it something grated. When he had fallen, he must have broken his neck.

Spock did not have time to process his reaction to that realisation. Stolk had attacked him, and he had defended himself. He could not spare time for self-recriminations. He got to his feet and moved until he found the wall, then began a careful search for the door. He had to get out of here before the Orions returned.

As he found the door it opened smoothly beneath his hands, and he stood for a moment in the doorway, listening intently. There was no one out there, so Spock took his chance and began down the corridor. Ordinarily he would have made a more considered judgement on which way to go. Ordinarily he would have run. As it was he had so little input to inform his decisions that he simply decided to try to retrace his steps back to where Peter was incarcerated, in the hope of being able to free him.

He moved swiftly down the corridor with one hand on the wall, feeling slight seams every now and then between panels, and occasionally the recess of a door which  either slipped open or stayed solid behind his hand .  He made brief explorations of the rooms he could enter, and found nothing useful. Always his ears were listening for voices, footsteps, anything that could threaten him or tell him anything about where he was, but he heard nothing. He thought he was following the path he had been taken along to get to Stolk’s room, but he could not be entirely certain. He did, however, find a door that opened and admitted him to an elevator, that could have been the elevator he had been brought up in. It was only when he entered the small space that he realised he had no idea how to use the thing. He felt about on the wall but could find no activation handles as there were on the  _Enterprise._ He could feel no buttons. When he tried voice activation, nothing happened.

He stood for a moment, leaning lightly against the wall. His limbs and chest ached from his earlier beating. He could smell Stolk’s blood on his clothing. He had to admit to himself that he was lost. He  _thought_ he was in an elevator, but what if he wasn’t? What if he were simply standing in a n empty supply closet waiting foolishly for the thing to move?

He felt very tired. He fought hard to suppress emotions that were welling up in him,  made more volatile by Stolk’s attack on his mind .  _Useless, helpless, blind, alone..._ None of that would help. Nothing would help but positive action.

But he was not alone. There was Jim, somewhere loose in this ship. He closed his eyes and reached out, his voice low and soft in his head.

_Jim... Jim._

There was a sudden awareness, a galvanising of Jim’s thoughts as he caught his lover’s call.

_Spock?_

There was a flurry of thought, anxiety spiking in Jim’s mind, then an effort to calm himself. Spock joined with his thoughts, calming him, letting Jim sense what had happened. He shared his memory of the room with Stolk, the rich scents of incense, the attempt at a forced meld which Spock had rejected so violently that Stolk had been left dead. Jim prised out his deep-buried guilt and shame at the killing and soothed those thoughts. All of those thoughts passed in a millisecond, penetrating Jim’s mind, being processed and understood.

_Spock, where are you?_ Jim asked, and Spock shared his confusion.

_I think an elevator,_ he shared,  _but I cannot tell and I cannot make it move._

Jim caught his shame again, his sense of uselessness, and Spock felt a surge of warmth like a hug spreading into his mind. At the same time Spock saw what Jim had seen when he had been in an elevator and he spread his fingers over the walls and searched out for the feeling of the things the Jim had seen. There. There it was. A slight difference in texture at hip height that was all there was to indicate to Spock the highly coloured panel that Jim had seen. He slipped his fingertips over it, gauging its size and dimensions, and touched his finger finally to the place where Jim had used his own fingers to activate the lift.

‘Deck seven,’ he said softly, echoing Jim’s prompt. Deck seven was where the engine was. Deck seven was where Jim was. The lift instantly began to move, and Spock pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself. His own voice repeated inside his mind. _Jim, Jim, Jim._ He needed to be close to him. He needed to be together with his love and his eyes.

The descent took less than thirty seconds, and the door opened almost silently, slipping away under Spock’s waiting fingertips. He stood in the doorway, listening hard, his hand across the doorframe to stop the door from closing and the elevator from moving away. There was no sound but the thrum of engines, and the soft noise of footsteps. Spock held his breath.

_Jim, is that you, coming?_ he reached out in his mind again.

Jim’s presence seemed to pulse in his mind, an affirmative moving closer and closer. And then Jim was there, his hand locking into Spock’s, his arms going briefly around him and holding him before slipping back to hold his hand again and lead him forward.

‘What about Petey, Spock?’ Jim asked in a low voice, interrupting himself to ask, ‘Are you all right? Want my arm?’

Spock wordlessly adjusted his hand so he was holding Jim’s upper arm, and replied just as quietly. ‘He was left behind in the room you found us in. I am concerned about what may happen to him once Stolk’s body is discovered. I meant to go back to find him and try to get him out, but I don’t believe I would have been able to find my way.’

‘I’ve found auxiliary control, Spock,’ Jim replied. ‘It might be possible to take the ship from there. But you’re right about Peter. God knows what they’ll do to him if they find out what you did.’

Spock abruptly found himself being turned about in the corridor, and reached out a hand to steady himself.

‘Sorry, Spock,’ Jim murmured, ‘but we need to get back up there. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ Spock nodded. He had no idea how Jim expected to get Peter out of the room but at least if they were both there there was a possibility, even if they were discovered, of deflecting any harm meant for the boy.

They were back in the elevator, and Jim activated it with no hesitation. Spock kept hold of his arm, a small part of himself just basking in the contentment that he felt in Jim’s presence. They were not safe, though. They would not be safe until they were back on Earth or in control of this ship

The elevator slowed to a stop and he followed Jim swiftly into the corridor beyond.

‘You remember the way?’ he murmured, and Jim replied, ‘I think so.’

‘Are the lights activated?’ Spock asked.

‘Here they are,’ Jim confirmed.

‘We must be alert for enemies.’

‘Believe me, I am,’ Jim said.

Spock cocked his head a little to one side. ‘Are you armed, Jim?’ he asked.

‘If you call a length of steel pipe armed,’ Jim replied grimly.

Spock nodded. ‘Satisfactory under the circumstances,’ he said. A steel pipe would not stand up against a phaser, but it would knock out an inattentive man.

Jim stopped in the corridor, and Spock focussed his hearing, immediately alert.

‘Do you see someone?’ he asked in a murmur.

‘No,’ Jim said. ‘Look, there’s a room here. It’s a storeroom, I’ve been in it before. Spock, I want you to go in there and wait for me.’

‘Jim – ’ Spock began to protest.

‘No, Spock,’ Jim insisted. ‘Listen, I know you can give me a thousand arguments about why you should come, but you’re blind, and this could get messy.’

‘Jim,’ Spock said firmly. He did not usually argue with his partner and captain, not when he knew that Jim could order him and it would be insubordination to disobey, but he was certain that Jim was underestimating his capabilities. ‘I am coming with you,’ he said. ‘We do not have the luxury of time for debate. Your nephew is at risk.’

There was a long, hard silence. Spock knew he could use his mental ability to help push Jim’s decision in his favour, but he did not. He simply waited.

‘All right, Spock,’ Jim said. There was no more discussion than that. He just walked on with Spock at his side. They encountered no one between that storeroom and the room where Peter was incarcerated.

‘They can’t have discovered the Vulcan yet,’ Kirk murmured.

‘Either that, or they _have_ discovered him but are focussing their search elsewhere,’ Spock pointed out. ‘They might not understand that I have a logical reason to return to the boy.’

‘Hmm, Orions tend to be every man for himself,’ Kirk agreed. ‘But we need to be quick. Here, Spock. Here’s the door.’

He took Spock’s hand and pressed it against the cool fabric of the door. Spock ran his palm across the face, feeling the distortions that he had made when he tried to open the door from the inside.

‘Jim, there is no guarantee that I can force it,’ he said. ‘Is there no visible external locking mechanism?’

‘Nothing,’ Jim said. Spock could feel him shaking his head.

‘Then we have little choice,’ Spock murmured. He pressed his already bruised fingers to the door, feeling over it and trying to identify where the locking mechanism was placed. Meanwhile Jim knocked on the door and called out in a low voice, ‘Petey?’

‘Uncle Jim!’ came Peter’s voice immediately, muffled through the plate. ‘Uncle Jim, they took Mr Spock away. I don’t know if – ’

‘I am here, Peter,’ Spock said quickly, his hands still moving on the door. ‘Peter, please move toward the back of the room. I am going to attempt again to force the door.’

‘Can you, Uncle Spock?’ Peter asked rather plaintively.

‘I will do my utmost,’ Spock promised. ‘Jim, would you step back from the door?’

He waited, felt Jim move away from him as much as heard him. When Jim was close to him he felt warmer, no matter how illogical the elders of Vulcan might judge that thought. He pressed his hand once more over the latch area of the door. He had already done considerable damage with his attempts to force the door from inside. It might be that a blow from the opposite direction was all that was needed.

He stepped away, remembered the exact point where his hand had been pressed, and then threw himself at the door, his leg extended in a powerful kick. There was a shuddering crunch and the force ricocheted up his leg and into his hip, jarring even his skull as it rushed through his body. In a human a bone might have cracked, but fortunately Vulcan bones were stronger than human.

‘It’s gone, Spock!’ Jim said excitedly. ‘I think the lock’s gone.’

Spock moved forward to the door again, reaching out and tentatively running his hands over the panel, wary of the possibility of sharp edges. There were none that he touched, though, and he could feel a gap at the edge where the lock had held the door closed.

‘I can see you, Uncle Spock!’ Peter called from inside, rushing forward. ‘There’s light come in here! I can see you.’

‘Very good, Peter,’ Spock said without emotion. ‘Stand away from the door, please. I have not finished.’

‘Think you can slide it now?’ Jim asked.

Spock pressed his fingers into the slight gap and put all his force through the door, trying to pull it across, but it jolted a little and then moved no more.

‘I have created too much of a distortion in the panel,’ he murmured. ‘Stand back again, Jim. Stand away from the door, Peter.’

He lined himself up for another kick and released his energy like a pent up spring. This time instead of the energy mostly ricocheting back up his body he abruptly found himself continuing on his forward trajectory as the door crumpled inwards. He hit the floor hard, and lay there for a minute, taking in breath, taking stock of the various new aches and stings that had joined the ones gained from his earlier beating.

‘Spock, it’s open,’ Jim said rather unnecessarily. ‘Spock, are you all right?’

Jim came to him, putting hands on his arms, his warmth flowing firmly from Jim’s life force into Spock’s.

‘I am all right, Jim,’ Spock assured him. ‘We must get away from here.’

‘You’re right,’ Jim said, helping Spock to his feet and putting an arm around his back. ‘Petey, are you okay? Come on, we don’t have a lot of time. God knows when they’ll discover the Vulcan, discover Spock’s missing...’

Peter did not question his uncle’s words and followed them out of the room without  speaking . Spock could sense his closed in fear and anxiety, but knew he could do little to alleviate it. He had caused enough destruction and death on this ship to make it certain that their treatment would not be kind if they were caught.

‘We need to get back down to auxiliary,’ Jim murmured, hustling Spock on down the corridor. Spock did not protest at the manner of guidance. He simply ran with Jim’s arm around him until they got back to the elevator, and it descended to the correct deck for auxiliary control.

‘If only we could lock off this deck to them somehow,’ Jim murmured.

Spock quenched his own frustration. With sight it was entirely possible he would be able to tap in to the ship’s computer system and somehow seal off this deck, even if only by locking off the elevators. Without sight he knew it was impossible, and his skills were of very little use.

‘If we can seal off auxiliary it should be enough,’ he said.

‘I haven’t worked out how to access the auxiliary overrides yet,’ Jim cautioned him.

‘It should be possible,’ Spock said. Again, his sightlessness was an overwhelming obstacle, but it was still possible. Jim might be able to access the overrides, and if he could not, he might be able to do it with Spock’s advice.

‘Here, Spock,’ Jim said, turning him toward the right and in through a door. The room they entered felt small and closed in, and when the door hissed closed behind them Spock finally allowed himself to feel a sense of relief.

‘Can you lock the door, Jim?’ he asked.

‘Should be able to,’ Jim murmured, letting go of him and moving away. ‘Petey, take Spock to a chair, won’t you?’

‘No need, Jim,’ Spock said quickly. No matter how fit and well he was people, even Jim, always seemed to think he was in need of sitting down. Instead he followed Jim over toward the door. ‘Is there an access panel?’

‘I can manage it,’ Jim said, his voice muted with concentration. His lips sounded as if they were pressed together as he spoke.

Spock quelled impatience and turned away. He could not help. He walked cautiously across the floor until his outstretched fingers touched what seemed to be a console. As he moved sideways his thigh brushed a chair, but he ignored it and bent down over the controls, running his fingertips lightly over the various buttons and screens. That was as much as he could do. Without sight the feel of the buttons told him nothing. The configuration was not like that on the _Enterprise_ or any ship of his experience.

‘Door’s locked,’ Jim said, coming back over to him. ‘The override was pretty simple. I just hope that doesn’t mean it’s as easy for them to override our lock in their turn.’

‘There’s little we can do about that,’ Spock murmured, touching his hands to the controls again.

‘Watch out, Spock,’ Jim said, slipping into the chair. ‘Let me get at it. I’ll work out how to cut into their security, and – ’ His words were bitten off in a curse.

Spock lifted an eyebrow, feeling a muted sense of amusement. ‘That was not the way,’ he pointed out.

Jim laughed quietly. ‘No, Mr Spock, that was not the way. That was a mild electric shock. I guess I’m not so familiar with this system as I thought I might be.’

‘Jim, let me help,’ Spock offered, coming to stand behind his captain and touching his fingertips lightly to his forehead. He did not need to ask aloud for permission to enter his lover’s thoughts. He slipped into Jim’s mind like a swimmer entering a warm pool. There was a sense of the separation of their thoughts, and then they melded together like an image coming into focus, and suddenly he could see through Jim’s eyes.

For a moment the light and colour and depth staggered him. It flexed and distorted and then settled back to something akin to looking at images through water. He mentally extended his arms into Jim’s arms, his fingers into his fingers. They were so tightly wrapped together that he could hardly tell where Jim began and he stopped.

 _There_ , he thought, wrapped in Jim’s mind. Together they thought, _There, that is the place, that is what we must do..._

  



	24. Chapter 24

It was working. Piece by piece control was wrested away from the main bridge and re-routed to auxiliary control. Spock was so far sunk into Jim’s mind that he could not feel his own uniqueness. They worked as one. By now he was no longer overwhelmed by the bright insistence of sight, but accepting of it as something which simply  _was_ . Jim saw, and so he saw as Jim. Their hands moved over the controls, digging deep into the computer system, routing out the safeties and codes designed to stop such a takeover as they were attempting. Orion programming couldn’t approach the skill and intelligence possessed by Spock and the human ingenuity of Kirk, not the two of them melded together into one.

When the controls were completely turned over to auxiliary and locked in beyond what Spock believed would be the Orions’ capabilities, he let himself slip apart from Jim’s mind. It was like a parting after sex, but this parting went to his core. Once his fingers slipped from Jim’s face he stumbled backwards, feeling twice as blind. His hearing felt muted, his fingers felt numb. All of the aches and sharp pains of what had happened to him over the last few hours throbbed through his flesh and bones.

‘...ll do it, I think,’ Jim was saying. ‘We should be able to hold them out for a while. Spock, do you think you could – Spock?’

He blinked his eyelids over dark eyes, and shook himself. Humans had such subtle reactions compared to the depth of Vulcans’ feelings. Jim had barely been affected by the dissolution of such a deep meld.

‘Yes, Jim,’ he said, turning back to Jim’s voice. ‘I expect they will find it difficult to regain control. However, they may now be aware of our interference, despite our attempts to cover the traces. Can I suggest that you send an S.O.S. as soon as possible?’

‘I’m just about to. Petey, can you watch that monitor and tell me if you see anyone? Spock, are you all right?’

Spock reached out mentally just enough to brush against the edges of Jim’s thoughts, and Jim understood without the need for cumbersome verbal explanations. The combination of Stolk’s assault, the Vulcan’s sudden death, and the deep contact with Jim had left him feeling greatly in need of meditation, but this was hardly the time or place for such indulgence.

Jim was at the communications console now, trying to send out a signal. Spock stood in his darkness with his head slightly to one side, listening. Everything would depend on this one contact. There could be a ship close enough to undertake a rescue within minutes, but even if there wasn’t they could alert someone to their location.

‘This is Captain James T. Kirk calling any Federation ship,’ Jim repeated over and over. ‘This is Captain James T. Kirk, calling any Federation ship.’

Spock stood and listened, his hands clasped before him half in an attitude of meditation. There was no time for meditation, but the posture helped. It was quite obvious to him that although Jim kept calling, there was no reply.

‘There is a communications blackout,’ he commented.

‘Yes, damn it,’ Jim replied, slamming something down onto the console. Spock wanted to step forward and offer help but he stood helplessly in darkness.

‘We could attempt another meld,’ he suggested.

‘No point,’ Jim said tersely. ‘I can see what’s wrong. The console’s not much more than a shell. There’s no equipment connected.’

‘A common practice with certain factions among the Orion pirates,’ Spock commented smoothly, although he was suppressing deep frustration. ‘They use their own devices accessible only to certain crew members to prevent betrayal. They must have been operating under a broad communications blackout.’

‘God damn it,’ Jim snapped.

Spock could feel Peter’s alarm as the boy asked, ‘Uncle Jim, what’s – ’

‘Not _now_ , Peter!’ Jim responded, and then almost immediately said, ‘I’m sorry, Petey. We’re having problems. Just keep watching that monitor, won’t you? They might not notice we’ve taken control until we make a course change, but as soon as they do they’ll be down here like dogs after a bone.’

‘We have no option but to pilot the ship to Earth,’ Spock commented. ‘Once we are there, with our inability to communicate we may be at risk from Earth defences.’

‘Unless we can access the transporter and beam ourselves down,’ Kirk murmured.

‘Unlikely,’ Spock responded.

He felt Jim’s frustration at what the human perceived as negativity. Spock was not intending to be negative, only truthful. His fingers itched again with the need to act. Perhaps he could be infiltrating himself into the ship’s systems, closing off a route to the transporter or even attempting to access the controls to beam their small party inter-ship to the transporter and then down to Earth.

‘That’s it,’ Jim said. ‘Course laid in and implementing. They’ll notice in a few seconds.’

‘How long to Earth, Jim?’ Spock asked.

‘At these sub-light speeds? About an hour,’ Jim said, his voice laden with frustration. ‘Petey, do you see anyone on the monitor?’

‘Not yet, Uncle Jim,’ Peter replied.

An alarm began to sound on one of the consoles, and Spock turned his head, galvanised by the sound.

‘They’ve noticed,’ Jim told him. ‘They’re trying to regain control.’

‘They will not succeed,’ Spock replied.

‘We can hope,’ Jim murmured. ‘What if there’s another Vulcan on the ship?’

‘It is possible, but not all Vulcans have an A7 computer classification,’ Spock pointed out.

‘It’s no laughing matter, Spock,’ Jim said.

‘I am not laughing,’ Spock responded, but he knew what Jim meant, and he appreciated that Jim had registered the slight hint of levity in his statement.

‘I would offer to monitor the enemy’s attempts to regain computer control, but – ’

‘There are some things you just can’t do,’ Jim finished for him.

‘Yes,’ Spock said. He subsided into silence. He had no time right now for the creeping grey sense of depression that was coming over him. Why, then, could he not push it away?

‘We’ll hold them off, Spock,’ Jim said, taking a moment to touch the Vulcan’s arm.

‘Yes, Jim,’ Spock said.

He turned his thoughts to the door. If the Orions could not regain computer control then a direct attack would be their next approach, provided the ship was not equipped with other methods of quelling intruders. In the event of gas or venting the air they could do nothing, but perhaps they could hold the door.

‘Have you discovered any defences built in?’ he asked.

‘Can’t detect any knock out gas and the air vents aren’t efficient enough for them to shut out atmosphere,’ Kirk said, his thoughts obviously running along the same lines as Spock’s. ‘The door’s the weak point...’

‘Is there a weapons cache?’

‘I haven’t found one, but it’s likely. I’d have one in auxiliary.’

Spock nodded, and set himself to exploring the small room thoroughly with his hands, hoping to find something of use. It seemed to be all he could do at this point in time.

‘Here, Jim,’ he said after a moment, his hands flat on the wall. ‘Is this a compartment?’

There was a brief pause, then Jim said, ‘Just a panel, I think. Keep looking, Spock.’

‘Peter, do you see anyone on the monitor?’ Spock asked.

‘No, sir, not yet,’ Peter replied.

Spock turned himself to searching again. He recalled the day he had spent with Ms Alcott learning how to read the echoes and air currents of the spaces he was in. That training had been invaluable, and he could tell from the feel of this room that it was relatively small and furnished with hard surfaces. He was hoping to find a weapon with which Jim might be able to seal the door. It was a slim chance that it would work, but it would be better than nothing.

‘Here, Jim,’ he said again, his fingernails catching at a slight lip in a slanting surface under one of the consoles. ‘It could be an access panel or a storage locker. I can’t tell.’

Jim was at his side in an instant. ‘I think it’s a locker,’ he murmured, ‘but it’s locked.’

Spock pressed his fingernails into that slight edge again, trying to get some purchase. His fingers were sore from his attempts to break out of the room in which he had been imprisoned, but he ignored that and put all of his strength into pushing into the edge and trying to buckle the sheet. Slowly the material distorted, and then caved inward, giving him a gap into which he could press his fingers and wrench the panel off. He tossed the panel aside and felt into the cavity with caution. His fingers passed over the familiar cold undulations of weapons.

‘Jim, weapons,’ he said, withdrawing his hands. Without being certain of the design he did not want to risk setting one off. ‘Perhaps you can melt the lock to prevent them opening it from outside.’

‘Hey, guys!’ Peter called out suddenly. ‘A bunch of green guys in the corridor! They look mighty angry!’

Spock stood upright immediately, listening. He could hear them too, not far away.

‘Jim, the door,’ he said in a level voice, just tinted with urgency.

‘Give me one of those weapons,’ Jim said, shouldering past him. The weapons clattered in the locker. ‘Petey – ’ He hesitated, and did not continue. Instead Spock heard the hiss of the weapon as it fired, and then Jim said, ‘That’s melted the lock. I don’t dare do more for fear of weakening it. Spock, they’re class 2 Orion phasers. Do you know them?’

‘I believe so,’ Spock said, bringing the image of those weapons into his mind. It fitted with what he had felt.

‘I’ve set this on stun,’ Jim said, taking Spock’s hand and closing his fingers about one of the weapons. Jim’s hand held warmly over his for a moment. ‘If you need to use it – ’

‘I will,’ Spock assured him.

‘Petey,’ Jim said, and Spock suddenly understood his earlier hesitation. ‘Peter, I want you to take this. It’s set on stun like Spock’s. You point it at a bad guy, and press the trigger.’

‘Just like in the vid shows, Uncle Jim?’ Peter asked in a voice laced with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

‘Just like in the vid shows. You can’t kill anyone with it as long as you keep it on that setting, but if you see a bad guy you point it at him and shoot. Don’t point it at Spock or me, not even for fun. Do you understand?’

‘I understand, Uncle Jim,’ Peter said.

A thud on the door galvanised them all to a moment of concerned silence.

‘Precisely how long to Earth orbit, Jim?’ Spock asked in a low voice. Jim’s vague _about an hour_ had been frustratingly imprecise.

‘Er – forty eight minutes, thirty-seven seconds, and counting,’ Jim said distractedly. ‘Peter, I want you to stand with Spock, understand me? He can’t see. You need to be his eyes. Help him.’

‘Sure, Uncle Jim,’ Peter said, coming to stand very close to the Vulcan. Spock was not sure whether Jim was giving Peter the opportunity to feel useful, or whether he really believed that Spock needed such help. Perhaps, on reflection, he did. The banging on the door was increasing, and Spock was desperately aware of how vulnerable he would be were one of the enemy to gain entrance with a weapon in hand.

‘Peter, I need to stand approximately at least two metres away from the door, and I don’t want Uncle Jim between us and the door,’ he said quietly. ‘If they gain entry I want to be able to shoot freely. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah, sure, Uncle Spock,’ Peter said, taking Spock’s hand with his own cooler one. ‘Come right over here,’ he said, carefully leading the Vulcan to the side. ‘That’s it.’

‘Thank you, Peter,’ Spock said.

He stood very still, listening, trying to reach out mentally as well to discern how many people were outside the room. He thought he could detect approximately five of them, which was not a disturbingly large number. Many of the others were probably enmeshed in their attempts to regain control of the ship’s computers.

He mentally rechecked the time. It should be forty five minutes and twenty-three seconds now. The Orions were yelling and beating on the door, and he thought he could hear weapons fire. It was possible that the door would be destroyed in less time than it would take them to reach Earth, unless the panel were very secure. It was possible, of course, that it had reinforcement built in for just such an event. The Orions were nothing if not diligent in their self-protection.

‘Jim?’ he asked, but said no more than that.

‘They’re not getting in,’ Jim replied, understanding Spock’s monosyllable. ‘Not through the door or the navigation system. If it looks like they’re starting to hack back in we’ll have to try a meld again so you can see to it, but I want us both to be clear and alert unless it’s absolutely necessary.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said. He stood with his phaser aimed toward the door, waiting, allowing his sense of the rest of the room to settle around him. He wanted to be fully aware, as aware as he could be, of where door and walls and chairs and consoles were. He could not be utterly sure, but he could feel a vague shadow sense from the echoes and air currents.

‘Spock, tell me what you found out about the conspiracy,’ Jim said from his position at the navigation console. ‘You must have hit on something pretty hot for them to beam us out like that. They must have been hovering over us, waiting.’

Spock felt a brief moment of frustration.

‘I cannot tell you what the clinching piece of data was,’ he admitted. ‘I was notified by the padd of new data brought up by my automatic searching, but I was occupied with Peter at the time and did not look.’

‘But you know the rest?’ Jim asked. He was masking his disappointment from his voice but Spock could feel it all the same.

‘I know the rest,’ Spock nodded. ‘It is all as faithfully memorised by me as it was by my padd.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘I discovered, Jim, that the conspiracy ranges from the lowest to the highest ranks of Starfleet with at least a hundred confirmed personnel working for what I assume must be Stolk’s people. There were no Vulcans mentioned, however.’

‘I saw a Vulcan name,’ Peter put in. Spock had almost become unaware of his presence.

‘Seventy-three personnel have been converted to the cause,’ Spock continued, ‘while I believe twenty-nine are very clever replacements – people who have assumed the identities of Starfleet personnel who were stationed far away from Earth and have somehow been replaced on their return to Starfleet Headquarters. I cannot speculate as to the fate of those missing officers. There are probably more, both the converted and replacements, but I am yet to positively identify them.’

‘But Spock, that’s – I never expected it to be anything so big,’ Jim stuttered.

‘My people are nothing if not efficient,’ Spock commented darkly.

‘Efficient enough to avoid getting their hands dirty by becoming directly involved,’ Jim agreed.

‘Until I met Stolk aboard this ship I had no information regarding Vulcan members of the conspiracy,’ Spock confirmed. ‘Stolk was a former teacher of mine.’

‘Uncle Spock, I saw Vulcan names,’ Peter insisted again, tugging at his hand. As Peter’s fingertips brushed his own Spock gained a strong and definite sense of Peter’s urgency that reached him in a way that his voice could not.

‘Petey, don’t grab hold of Spock like that. He doesn’t like it,’ Jim said.

Spock’s attention was fully on Peter, and he did not let go when Peter tried to withdraw his fingers.

‘Where did you see Vulcan names, Peter?’ he asked.

‘On your padd, Uncle Spock. When you switched it on to use the light, remember? It didn’t light up much, but I saw Vulcan names on it when you turned it on the first time.’

‘My own name?’ Spock asked.

‘No, sir, there was that Stolk you said about, I think. S – T – O – L – K.’

‘That was his name,’ Spock nodded. A light seemed to be switching on in his mind. The last thing the padd had done before their untimely beam up was to alert him to new information. It was almost certainly the first thing on the screen when he had turned the padd on. ‘Peter, was this a list?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Uncle Spock,’ Peter confirmed. ‘There was a bunch of Vulcan names. Some men, some girls’ names. Some Earth names too, I think.’

‘Peter, can you remember those names?’ Spock asked. He could feel Peter’s vagueness and confusion through the finger touch, and was not hopeful.

‘I – don’t know, Uncle Spock. I only remembered that Stolk one because you said it. I don’t remember the others.’

Spock knelt down then. ‘Peter, are you aware of the Vulcan technique of mind meld?’

‘Yeah, a little,’ Peter said, sounding dubious. ‘Mom always said it was unnatural...’

Spock’s eyebrow rose. ‘It is entirely natural to my people. Peter, if you thought very hard about your memory of my padd screen and allowed me to touch your face, it might be possible for me to see what you saw written on my padd.’

He was not sure how to explain the process of meld to a child of Peter’s age. How would he describe the intimacy, the lowering of barriers, the incredible penetration of a privacy few people even knew existed, because they never conceived of the idea of someone entering their innermost thoughts? Children’s minds, though, tended to be more open, more creative, and shielding fewer dark secrets. He did not know that from experience, but had read a considerable amount of data about melds with children.

‘I – I don’t know, Uncle Spock...’ Peter faltered.

Spock nodded. ‘I will not force you. Once we return to Earth I will be able to access my research from our home terminal, provided the padd was permitted time to connect for backup.’

‘You mean – you might not have the backup?’ Peter asked.

‘It is entirely possible,’ Spock nodded. ‘It is very possible that, knowing what I found, those who were monitoring my padd will destroy both the padd and any backup that was made.’

‘I just can’t remember what I saw, Uncle Spock,’ Peter said a little plaintively. ‘But maybe you can see it for me?’

Spock could sense Jim’s presence very close to him. Jim was impatient, concerned, stressed, but he was concealing all of that from the boy. He wouldn’t say anything to try to influence him either towards or away from the meld. Spock could not quite tell whether Jim approved or not. Melding with an adult human had taken a great deal of preparation when he had done it for the first time, but he had grown used to stabilising the blood pressure differences, controlling his descent into a mind so unlike his, coping with his own reaction to that mind and easing his meld partner’s own reaction. A child was so much more fragile and unpredictable than an adult human. He did not want to risk anything more than the lightest of touches.

‘Will you let me touch your thoughts, Peter?’ he asked. ‘It will not take long and I will not go deep. I need only that single memory.’

‘I – guess so,’ Peter said.

Spock nodded. He lifted his hand up and carefully extended it towards Peter’s voice. His fingers brushed the boy’s nose awkwardly, and he sensed Peter’s embarrassment. Then his let his hand settle into the proper position on the boy’s small face, and instantly Peter’s unguarded fears penetrated his mind.

‘Relax,’ Spock murmured. ‘Think only of that one thing, Peter. That one image. The screen of my padd. Do not try to force it. Don’t try to read it in your memory. Just think of it.’

Spock closed his eyes and let himself sense Peter’s thoughts, shutting out the emotion and the ripples of thought beyond and focussing on that single memory that Peter was holding up at the front of his mind like a sheet of paper. He saw it and held it in his own memory, and then withdrew himself from the surface sheen of Peter’s mind. He had barely penetrated at all.

‘Oh,’ Peter said, sounding slightly disoriented.

‘Thank you, Peter,’ Spock said, letting his hand fall back to his side. He brought Peter’s image into his mind and let his mind’s eye gaze on it. It was not entirely clear, but he read the first few names. Academician Stolk. Vulcan High Council Member T’Sel. Vulcan High Council Member T’Ans. Vulcan High Council Leader Stonek.

Spock opened his eyes and blinked, almost expecting light. In its place was the cloying darkness again, but those letters seemed burned into his mental vision. Vulcan High Council Leader Stonek. There was no one in a higher position on Vulcan but T’Pau. What seemed more vital to Spock was that Stonek would be arriving on Earth at some point within the next twenty-four hours to speak to leading Federation and Starfleet officials, ostensibly to aid moves toward peace between the Federation and the Klingons. Stonek would likely find it quite easy to spend time alone with any number of those officials, and it would not be beyond his powers to influence them telepathically toward war while all the while speaking for peace. With the many members of the conspiracy laced though Starfleet, through gossip and bar room and office talk the drive toward war could spread like wildfire. The Federation could be days away from war, and he and Jim were stuck on an Orion ship still on the very fringes of the solar system, unable to communicate with anyone...

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

They could not pretend their position in auxiliary control was safe in the slightest. Although Jim was nursing every last bit of sub light speed out of the system they were still tens of minutes from Earth, and the Orions were clearly audible outside the door, trying to get in. Spock knew how Jim’s finger must be itching to send the ship to warp, but to go to warp in a solar system was to risk a wormhole, and that risk was too great to take, for themselves and any other ship in the vicinity.

Spock wanted desperately to be able to monitor the situation visually. He felt incredibly vulnerable and incredibly redundant.

‘Jim,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Speed holding steady,’ Jim replied instantly. ‘The door’s still looking solid. I’m working on remotely locking the engine room down in case it occurs to them to go directly to the impulse drive.

‘Uncle Jim, I need the toilet,’ Peter said suddenly, in a whining voice, and Spock sighed silently.

‘There isn’t one,’ Jim said flatly. ‘You’ll have to hold it, Petey.’

‘I ca-an’t,’ Peter half-wailed.

‘You must,’ Spock said, in a voice sharper than he had intended, and Peter instantly fell silent.

‘Jim, is there anything on sensors yet?’ Spock asked. ‘There must be traffic.’

‘It’s a big solar system,’ Jim murmured, then said louder, ‘Trust me, Spock, I’m looking out for anything that might be able to help us. Trouble is, they might fire on us first.’

‘The vast majority of vessels are largely unarmed, and would not risk trouble with an Orion trader,’ Spock pointed out.

‘Then I’m not sure we can hope for any help until we reach Earth.’

‘It might be possible to send out some kind of signal,’ Spock said patiently. ‘Perhaps an old-style SOS. We could signal through our control of the engines, or even of the running lights.’

Spock subsided into silence again, considering how that might be accomplished. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the noises from outside to just enough of a degree that he could think with clarity. He needed to be alert, but he needed to be able to think.

It should be possible to control the running lights from Auxiliary. How likely was it that other ships would notice, would recognise the old style Morse code? Would anyone be able to recognise a more complete message? Perhaps with the attention of the right vessel they could communicate far more than a simple ‘save our souls.’ At any rate, Spock did not require anyone to save his soul. It was his body that was his concern. His soul, should it come to that, he would pass to Jim. He had never spoken to Jim about the eternal Katra, but he had no doubt that Jim would be receptive.

He straightened his spine and removed those thoughts from his mind. They had no place here. It was, of course, possible that they would all die, but thinking of that would not lessen the chance. Focussing on what needed to be done was the best way of staying alive.

He opened his eyes again, and stiffened. What was that? There was an amorphous blur of light in his left eye. He sat for a moment, transfixed, wondering if it were some kind of hallucination. That seemed the most likely explanation. But when he lifted his hand and pressed his palm over his eye, the blur darkened.

Spock bit his lip into his mouth, catching his breath, catching the words he wanted to utter inside. He wanted to cry out  _Jim!_ but this was not the time for such distractions. Still, he was distracted. The patch of light floated like a badly focussed jellyfish in his vision. It was in all probability very small, but it was undeniably there.

He closed his eyes again and the patch subsided into darkness. He turned his attention back to the consideration of how to signal any passing ships. If he could get into the workings of the consoles in here he could probably reroute the signals to the running lights. It was even possible he might be able to manipulate the sensors in order to make them project a crude but readable distress signal. There was still the issue of the Orions outside the door, though. They had become suspiciously quiet, although Spock could still hear some kind of activity out there.

Spock blinked again. It seemed that the patch in his left eye was bigger. He could make out a difference between lighter and darker objects. The urge to call out in joy to Jim was great, but he swallowed it down again. Jim was concentrating hard on what he was doing, attempting to coax a little more speed out of the engines and trim the course to make their return to Earth as swift as possible. But this was overwhelming. He had never imagined he would think an unfocussed blur of light so incredible.

‘Spock, I think they’re close,’ Jim said, and Spock snapped his attention to him.

‘Specify,’ he said crisply.

‘The Orions. I think they’re close to getting into this room.’

Jim’s voice was laden with apprehension. Spock wished he could do something. His own life was not paramount in his thoughts, but he wanted to preserve Jim, and also his young nephew, who had been through so much.

‘Peter, are you ready with the weapon?’ he asked in low voice.

‘Yes, Uncle Spock,’ Peter replied, but his voice was trembling.

Spock blinked, and gasped audibly. He could  _see_ the colour of Peter’s hair, distinct in that blurred spot of light in his left eye.

‘Spock, are you all right?’ Jim asked, immediately concerned.

‘I – seem to be recovering a certain amount of vision in my left eye,’ Spock said in a very calm and level voice.

Everything went very quiet for a moment. Then Jim said, ‘Spock – are you sure?’

Spock turned his head towards Jim’s voice and caught a blur of golden hair and the pink of his complexion.

‘I am very sure, Jim.’

That blur of gold and pink got closer to him very quickly and abruptly he found himself with Jim’s arms about his neck as his human partner favoured him with the kind of kiss he would usually reserve strictly for the bedroom.

‘Jim, the child,’ Spock murmured as soon as he recovered the ability to speak, but his lips buzzed and pulsed with the energy of Jim’s kiss and he would have liked to push all logic aside and roll him to the floor.

‘Aww, Uncle Spock, I don’t mind,’ Peter said, but to Spock’s ears he sounded rather embarrassed.

‘The Orions,’ Spock said then. ‘ _Jim_ , the Orions.’

Jim’s hand squeezed firmly over his shoulder, and then the human stepped back and stood shoulder to shoulder with the Vulcan.

‘We’ll be ready for them,’ he said stoutly. ‘I’ve locked in our course and speed and I just need to keep an eye on it to be sure they don’t hack in to the system.’

‘How far out are we now?’ Spock asked. He had to work hard to push away the pulsings of blood that Jim’s kiss had aroused in all of the most sensitive areas of his body. Now was not the time for distraction.

‘A half hour,’ Jim said.

Spock nodded briskly. It was hard not to focus on that patch of blurred light in his left eye. He needed to use it, but not have his mind locked on the thought of sight.

Abruptly there was a shout and a sound of grinding metal, and Spock riveted his attention towards the door.

‘No, it’s just a gap,’ Jim was shouting. ‘Spock, get behind the console. Get down now! They’ve got all the advantage. Pete!’

Spock felt his arm gripped and tugged by the boy, but he resisted the pull. If he so wanted he could make Peter feel like no more than a fly on his arm.

‘Order, Spock!’ Jim barked out, and Spock suddenly let Peter pull him away and pull him down. He crouched behind the bulk of an angled rising hardness that must be the console, blinking furiously as if that would help to clear the vision in his eye. He heard weapons fire, and his jaw set hard, but he would know immediately if Jim were hurt through the bond, and so far Jim was exercised but not hurt. The weapons fired again and a flash startled him, along with a reverberation of energy through the console he was huddled behind, sending him crashing back against the wall. Something in his back cracked with pain, and he gasped momentarily before pushing the pain away.

‘Uncle Spock, you all right?’ Peter asked, crawling over to him.

‘All right,’ Spock nodded, relieved that Peter was evidently all right too. He crouched lower as the weapons sang out again, and heard the dull soft thud of bodies falling. Peter’s hand was gripping so hard at his arm that if he allowed himself he would feel pain.

‘That’s some of them down,’ Jim said breathlessly, a note of triumph in his voice. ‘The others have retreated down the corridor. I got them on a wide beam, got close enough up to the gap that they couldn’t get the angle to shoot me. I need to stay at the door, though, Spock. I can’t monitor the console and guard the door.’

Frustration welled and was rammed down again. Even with that blur of light in his eye Spock was useless.

The ship rocked, and Spock was galvanised.

‘Jim?’ he asked, but he was certain that Jim knew no more than he. That had felt like external weapons fire.

‘Pete, get up and look at the console,’ Jim snapped. ‘External sensors. No, not that one. That one. The screen there. The button on the left. See anything?’

‘It’s a Starfleet ship, Uncle Jim!’ Peter cried, his voice shrill with surprise and excitement. ‘It’s a real big one too. I think I – If it turns I can see its name. USS _Cairo_.’

Spock absorbed that and looked deep into his database of current Starfleet vessels. The  _Cairo_ was by no means a ‘real big’ ship, but perhaps it would look that way to Peter if it were filling a sensor screen. Less than a third the size of the  _Enterprise_ , but just as well armed, it was primarily a solar system defence vessel. It must have picked up the weapons fire on board the Orion vessel and come to investigate. The lack of response on communications along with the obvious signs of Orion ownership would have warranted direct force.

At that moment a muffled voice resonated oddly from the room around them.

‘Unknown vessel, stand down. You are out-gunned. Stand down and lower your shields.’

In the absence of communications the  _Cairo_ must have attached a communications drone to the hull of the Orion ship, and it was broadcasting its demands by resonance directly through the hull plating.

‘Spock, I need you to take my position,’ Jim said quickly. ‘Petey, give him a hand. They just need to be able to see your weapon.’

Spock stood, ignoring the crick of pain in his back again. He followed Peter’s guidance until Jim’s hand touched him and closed warmly about his wrist. He reached out with his free hand to feel the buckled door panel and the sharp edges of the rent in it that the Orions had forced.

‘Here, just get the muzzle through that gap,’ Jim said. ‘Keep yourself out of line of sight. I need you to cover us long enough that I can drop the shields.’

Spock nodded, holding his phaser where Jim had directed it and making sure that he himself was back from the gap. He certainly did not need to see through the hole, which was, in a way, an advantage. He extended his perception and sensed the unconscious forms of the Orions who had been stunned, and further away those who were still quite active. It would not provide him with accurate aim, but it was better than nothing.

‘There,’ Jim said after a moment. ‘Shields down.’

He had barely completed his sentence and Spock could hear him returning to the door, when a warm hum enveloped them and Spock felt his body beginning to lose substance in the familiar grip of a tractor beam. He rematerialised in a place which was subtly but obviously different. Slightly warmer, a different scent in the air, a different note to the engines. This place was resoundingly Starfleet, and he allowed himself to relax minutely even as he heard barked orders to drop weapons and raise his hands. As he complied he heard Jim snapping out, ‘I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the USS  _Enterprise._ My first officer, Commander Spock, my nephew Peter Kirk.’

Spock stood very still with his hands held in the air, trusting to the training of the Starfleet officers who were presumably holding weapons on them to distinguish between the Orions and their captives.

‘All right, over there,’ someone said.

He was aware of a slight non-verbal interchange, and then Jim’s hand closed about his arm and Jim murmured, ‘One step down, Spock, about two feet in front of you,’ and he walked carefully off the transporter.

‘Captain Kirk,’ someone said, ‘Sir, we – ’

There were many people speaking at once. Spock was conscious of the need to access a communicator and speak to people on Earth and in Starfleet, but it seemed that nothing like that would happen until the human desire for fuss had been dealt with. He stood still with his hand on Jim’s arm, letting Jim take care of the situation. Peter was being taken off to use the toilet after a shrill and urgent request. The sound of a medical scanner whirred near him.

‘Even where there is no McCoy, there is still McCoy,’ Spock commented, largely to himself.

‘All right, all of you down to sick bay,’ a woman said crisply.

‘Doctor – ’ Kirk began, and then fumbled for a name.

‘Dr Ahmed,’ the woman told him.

‘Dr Ahmed, I can assure you we’re quite all right,’ Jim said smoothly.

Spock felt unguarded emotions bristle. He really was in the presence of a female McCoy.

‘You are not _quite all right_ , Captain,’ the doctor replied crisply. ‘You’ve all been exposed to type 7 radiation on that Orion hulk, and Commander Spock is sporting two broken ribs and if he unduly exerts himself before they’re fixed he’s risking a punctured lung – not to mention multiple bruises.’

‘Spock, why didn’t you – ?’ Jim began.

‘There was hardly time,’ Spock assured him. ‘When the Orions fired into the room I struck the wall. I didn’t say anything because there was no need at that time.’

‘Typical Vulcan. Where’s that boy?’ Ahmed asked distractedly. ‘I need him in sick bay too.’

‘He’s in the head,’ Jim said. ‘There, he’s coming now. Spock, take my arm, won’t you? Commander Spock is blind,’ he told Ahmed.

‘Yes, I noticed, and I knew already,’ Ahmed said rather wryly. ‘You’re not exactly low-key personnel, sir. But you still need to come to sick bay. Commander Spock, I’d rather you didn’t walk.’

Spock sighed, and resigned himself to the ministrations of the doctor. It was likely that his ability to win arguments in medical matters would also be similar to his experience of McCoy, and it was easier to submit.

 


	26. Chapter 26

The scents of the _Cairo_ ’s sick bay were very little different from those of the _Enterprise_ , but they differed in subtle ways. Spock was assailed by a mixture of familiarity and uncertainty as he lay in a ward bed. Dr Ahmed had insisted that he stay horizontal following her treatment of his fractured ribs, and Jim had told him in no uncertain terms to obey her instructions. At present the ward was empty, since neither Jim nor Peter had been confined to bed. He could bring the schematics for the _Cairo_ to mind quite clearly, but he knew from experience that lines on a blueprint did not always translate exactly to reality.

He could not stop focussing on that blurred patch of light in his left eye. He lifted his hand to his eye and rubbed lightly at it through his eyelid, but the motion made no difference. Dr Ahmed had promised to return to check out his eye, but with the caveat that she was no ophthalmologist, and certainly not a xeno-ophthalmologist. They would be back on Earth within the next hour, and there Spock would be able to access the best in the business.

He recalled those blueprints again, and pushed back the light blanket from his legs. He had been grateful of the warmth, as he always was on human-temperature ships, but he was still dressed in his day clothes and he had no real need of it. He stood, remaining still for a moment as he assessed the severity of the ache in his ribs, which were still reacting to action of the bone knitter but healed enough, he judged, to let him move around.

It should be about five paces to the other side of the room, and the door into the doctor’s office would be one point five three metres to the left. He found it with relative ease, and stood outside the doorway for a moment, ascertaining whether or not the room was empty. He had decided he could hear and sense someone in there when Dr Ahmed said in an acerbic voice, ‘Commander Spock, I see you took my order to stay in bed to heart, then?’

‘My heart is occupied in pumping blood around my body,’ Spock pointed out reasonably. ‘It was my brain which registered your order.’

‘And decided to ignore it?’

‘I saw no reason to continue to rest,’ Spock said. ‘Dr Ahmed, can you give me our ETA at spacedock?’

The woman came over to him and cupped her hand under his elbow. ‘Let me take you to a chair, Mr Spock,’ she said, ‘if we’re going to talk.’

Spock lifted an eyebrow. He had not had any intention of ‘talking,’ at least in the sense he understood Dr Ahmed to mean it, but he followed her guidance across the room and to a chair which he could tell by the feel was identical to the seats in the _Enterprise_ sick bay. As he sat he touched his hand to his eye again, blanking out the light spot with darkness for a moment.

‘All I can tell you, Mr Spock, is that it’s probably an effect of the type 7 radiation you were exposed to on the Orion ship,’ Dr Ahmed said without waiting for him to speak.

Spock reached out to feel the sharp edge of her desk in front of him, and rested his palms on the surface.

‘Explain,’ he said.

‘Radiation isn’t always harmful in every aspect. We know it can cause mutations in cells – cancers that for centuries were untreatable, cancers that killed. But it can also be used for good, and in this case – ’

‘In this case?’ Spock prompted her.

She sighed. Spock watched the blurred movement in front of him and imagined her leaning back in her chair as the blue of her uniform fluctuated. Was she wearing a typical uniform dress, he wondered, or something more like McCoy’s easy tunic that he sometimes termed ‘scrubs’? It was impossible to tell. He had gauged from her name and accent that she was probably from Earth’s Middle Eastern region. In that case she was probably dark eyed and dark haired, perhaps with a slightly darker skin tone. In some respects people of that area of Earth looked more like Spock’s own people. Light hair and light eyes were uncommon on Vulcan.

‘In this case, I don’t know, Commander Spock,’ she replied. ‘But it’s a variable, isn’t it? You weren’t exposed to type 7 radiation on Earth and you didn’t have any nerve regeneration. My instruments show noticeable nerve regeneration in your left optic nerve and some regeneration in your right, and apparently it began at about the time you boarded the Orion vessel, if what you tell us is correct.’

‘It is,’ Spock said.

‘Then – ’ She broke off at the noise of someone at the door, asking wearily, ‘Well, Lieutenant Sharp, what have you bent, bruised, or broken now?’

Spock turned his head. The newcomer was wearing red, and smelt like a human male.

‘I’ve broken nothing, Dr Ahmed,’ Sharp replied, coming further into the room. Spock noticed then that he was not alone. ‘Sir – Doctor – Commander Spock – ’ His nervousness was almost painful. ‘Commander Spock, sir, I have orders to escort you to the brig. You’re under arrest for murder.’

The atmosphere in the room crackled with tension, but Spock did not allow himself to react other than by turning his chair to more fully face the man.

‘I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?’ he asked, but at the same time Dr Ahmed’s voice cracked over his.

‘Commander Spock is under my care in my sick bay, Lieutenant, and you’re not escorting him anywhere. I haven’t released him. Now why in the name of all that’s holy do you think Mr Spock is under arrest?’

Spock stood and turned toward the pair in the door. The second guard, he thought, was female.

‘Explain the charges,’ he said crisply, but at that moment he sensed Jim and simultaneously heard a commotion as his captain burst into the room.

‘Spock, sit down,’ Jim said without preamble. Spock remained standing, one hand on the back of his chair. ‘Dr Ahmed, is Commander Spock fit to be released from sick bay?’

‘I hadn’t discharged him,’ Dr Ahmed said immediately, and Spock registered with some admiration her evasion of the thrust of the question.

‘Spock, Stolk’s body has been recovered from the Orion ship,’ Kirk said, his voice sharp with urgency. ‘Obviously questions were asked. The Orions said you killed him.’

‘I did kill him,’ Spock replied, and felt Jim’s frustration well and surge.

‘You killed him in self defence, as he attacked you,’ Jim snapped back. ‘You know, I know, he’s part of this – ’ He cleared his throat, composing himself, then continued, ‘this matter that we’ve been investigating. But to everyone else he’s a high-ranking official on the Vulcan High Council, and he’s been found dead after an altercation with you. Your genetic code is all over the scene.’

‘Of course,’ Spock said reasonably. ‘Jim, you have very little to be concerned about. I did kill Stolk in self defence. I did not murder him. Once we have returned to Earth that will become clear enough.’

An uncomfortable silence welled through the room. The security guards shuffled their feet. Then Dr Ahmed broke the silence.

‘Lieutenant Sharp, Ensign Lee, Commander Spock is still confined to sick bay under my care, and will only be on this ship for another hour. There’s no need for you to be here – there’s nowhere he can go. Commander Spock, I want you to get back into your bed. I kept you here for a reason – because your ribs are healing and I don’t want you putting them under too much strain until I’m sure the fractures are knitted. Captain Kirk – ’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Captain Kirk, I don’t seem to have any orders I can give you, but I’m quite happy for you to stay with Mr Spock until you disembark, if you want to. Where’s your nephew?’

‘Oh, he’s down in the rec room sampling as many flavours of ice cream as your replicators can manage,’ Jim said with a laugh in his voice. ‘Thank you, Dr Ahmed. I’ll help Spock back to bed.’

His hand settled on Spock’s arm, and Spock felt that warm reassurance that always came with Jim’s presence.

‘Don’t worry, Spock,’ Jim said in an undertone as he walked him out of the room.

‘I am not concerned,’ Spock said truthfully. He had no doubt that when Stolk’s death was examined rationally in light of the evidence he had gathered about the Vulcan conspiracy, that all charges would be dropped. It was not unlike the security forces on a small ship like this one to act in an over zealous fashion in the face of extraordinary events.

((O))

The docks in San Francisco were something akin to a media circus. Without his cane to help him Spock held lightly to Jim’s arm and attempted to extend his awareness of his surroundings, but the surroundings were marked by a babel of voices the instant the hatch opened on the shuttle from spacedock. Peter, thankfully, had been met by Jim’s mother, and was out of the media circus. Spock heard Starfleet officers giving orders for people to move back. He could feel the energy of their bodes very nearby.

Jim’s voice rose above them. ‘There will be no interviews. We’re directly en route to Starfleet Headquarters.’

‘Humans never cease to amaze me with their propensity for gossip,’ Spock said in an undertone as he followed Jim through the bustle and out into the open air.

‘The car’s right here, Spock,’ Jim said, helping him into the skimmer. ‘Watch your head. There you are.’

Spock leant back into his seat, grateful at the silence that suddenly enveloped him as the door closed. Since their arrival at spacedocks the order for Spock’s arrest had been rescinded, and he had little to worry about, but the task of transferring all of his discovered data to the authorities at Starfleet was an onerous one, considering his accessible padd had been taken and destroyed by the Orions.

‘I’m sure Admiral Williams is going to fascinated to hear everything you found out, Spock,’ Jim said.

In the privacy of the car Spock reached out to twine his fingers about Jim’s, letting their fingertips touch and a jolt of connection to surge through into his mind. He felt Jim’s mixed emotions at everything that had happened, his feelings of uncertainty over the death of Stolk, his pride in Spock’s work, a slight feeling of dissatisfaction marring the edges that it was largely Spock’s work that had ferreted out the conspiracy, and not his own.

‘Nonsense,’ Spock said in response to that unspoken thought. ‘Much of the groundwork was yours, Jim. It was my computing expertise that allowed me to extract the final details.’

Jim’s fingers tightened around his, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be back in their compact apartment where he could let down his barriers and reconnect with his lover after the stress of their period of captivity on the Orion ship.

‘Soon,’ Jim murmured.

Spock contented himself with the thought of that _soon_ and let the car take them to Headquarters, where he followed Jim up into Admiral Williams’ office.

‘Gentlemen, it’s good to have you back,’ the Admiral greeted them warmly as they entered her office. ‘Will you take a seat? Drink?’

Spock shook his head, but Jim accepted a coffee as they took seats on the far side of the woman’s desk.

‘I hear you’ve got a lot to tell me, Commander Spock?’ the woman asked.

Spock stirred in his chair. ‘I believe so,’ he said. ‘Admiral Williams, when is the Vulcan High Council Leader Stonek due to arrive on Earth?’

‘Oh...’ She made a tutting noise with her teeth as she thought. ‘I think he’s due in in the next hour, Commander. Why?’

‘Because his name was on the list of names identified as traitors to the Federation and instigators of the plan to disrupt the state of peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire,’ Spock said concisely. ‘I am certain that if Stonek is allowed free range here on Earth he will be able to use his uniquely Vulcan abilities to persuade others towards a declaration of war.’

‘Uniquely Vulcan abilities?’ Admiral Williams asked tentatively.

‘The Vulcan mind meld,’ Jim filled in for Spock. ‘It’s a misapprehension that a Vulcan has to be touching a subject to influence their thoughts. Spock himself would be the first to admit – ’

‘What the Captain says is true,’ Spock nodded. ‘We guard this ability closely, of course. Each Vulcan is trained in childhood to control their thoughts, and to respect the absolute sanctity of others’ minds, but it is possible to influence the thoughts of many beings when they are in close proximity, but not touching.’

‘And Council Leader Stonek – ’ Admiral Williams began.

‘I uncovered clear evidence that Council Leader Stonek is a leading member of the conspiracy. I should imagine he has meetings scheduled with a number of important Federation personnel?’

‘Hell, he’s meeting half the council...’ Admiral Williams murmured. Spock heard her hand touch something. He thought she was fiddling with the intercom button, as if she was about to call someone then thought better of it. ‘Mr Spock, can you give me proof of this?’ she asked.

‘My padd was taken and destroyed by the Orions, but the data were relayed to my padd from my home terminal at our apartment here in San Francisco,’ Spock replied. ‘It may be that the vulnerable areas through which I gained the information have now been patched, but the data should be intact on that computer.’

‘Can I send someone to fetch the terminal?’ the admiral asked. ‘Because if I’m going to put out a call to apprehend Stonek I’m going to need a damn good reason why.’

Spock cleared his throat. ‘May I suggest problems with quarantine in the first instance,’ he said carefully. ‘That may give you time to arrange to collect and examine my data.’

Admiral Williams gave a low, rich chuckle. ‘And I thought Vulcans couldn’t lie,’ she said.

Spock let his eyebrow rise. ‘I did not suggest a lie, rather more a misdirection.’

Jim laughed too. ‘If you think Vulcans can’t lie, Admiral, I’d suggest you befriend a few Vulcans. It’s the most useful cultural myth they have.’

Spock attempted to look scandalised, and was rewarded by a warm feeling of humour from Jim. Meanwhile Admiral Williams opened up a comm channel to ask someone to fetch the computer from their apartment.

‘About this Stolk, on the Orion ship,’ she said carefully once that was done. ‘I saw in the reports from the _Cairo_ that you were briefly arrested over his death, Commander Spock?’

‘I don’t believe I was ever technically arrested,’ Spock countered. ‘At least, I was not taken into custody.’

‘It was an over-zealous move on the part of the _Cairo_ ’s chief of security,’ Jim put in.

‘We’ll have to investigate, of course,’ Admiral Williams warned him. ‘In fact, Vulcan will demand it. But since Stolk seemed to be happily ensconced on an Orion pirate ship I expect things will come out in your favour, Mr Spock. Would you like to tell me what happened?’

‘I was taken to Stolk’s room in order for him to be able to interrogate me about what I had discovered as regards the conspiracy with which he was involved,’ Spock said. ‘Stolk proposed to enter my mind against my will. You will find that such an act draws quite serious consequences under Vulcan law, Admiral. I defended myself physically against Stolk’s attack. He fought back. I applied a nerve pinch, and I believe that he must have fallen in such a way that his neck was broken.’

‘Well, that seems reasonably clear cut,’ the admiral replied. ‘It accords with the _Cairo_ ’s reports from the Orion ship and their CMO’s report on Stolk’s body. I’m happy for you to go without charge, Mr Spock, and I expect Starfleet Security to feel the same way. I think once we get – ’ The admiral broke off, and then asked, ‘Are you all right, Mr Spock?’

Spock blinked, and brought his attention back to the admiral. He had been momentarily distracted by what seemed to be a blossoming of light and colour in his right eye this time. He touched his hand lightly to his eyelid, rubbing across the surface, and colour and flashes of light coruscated across his vision.

‘I apologise, Admiral,’ he said quickly, putting his hand back to his lap.

‘Are you all right, Spock?’ Jim asked in quick concern, catching on to the Vulcan’s preoccupation.

‘Yes, quite,’ he murmured. ‘I seem to be regaining some vision in my right eye too.’

He felt Jim’s spark of joy and Admiral Williams’ interest.

‘Regaining vision, Mr Spock?’ she asked curiously.

‘I seem to be experiencing a regeneration of the optic nerves,’ Spock said carefully, aware that he knew very little about what was happening inside his own eyes. ‘As of this moment it appears that both optic nerves may be regenerating.’

He heard the admiral lean forward in her chair, and caught her movement too. ‘Commander Spock, when did this start? Have you seen a doctor?’

Spock shook his head. ‘Only on the _Cairo_.’

‘All the data we need is on your personal terminal, Mr Spock,’ she said sharply. ‘As long as we have the access codes we really don’t need you to be here. You’ve told us all you can. Go see a doctor. Captain Kirk, make sure he goes to see a doctor, the best ophthalmologist you can find.’

Jim stood as if he had been on springs, putting his hand to Spock’s shoulder.

‘Come on, Spock. Let’s do as the lady orders,’ he said.

Spock sat hesitating. It seemed wrong to walk of out the admiral’s office while the fate of the investigation and Stonek’s visit to Earth were still up in the air.

‘Mr Spock, that’s an order,’ Admiral Williams said in a silken steel voice.

Spock stood, and Jim cupped a hand under his elbow. ‘I’ll start calling around as soon as we’re out of here,’ he told the Vulcan, hustling him out of the door. ‘Get you the best in the business, Spock.’

Spock allowed Jim to manhandle him, so distracted by the blurred and changing colours in his vision that he almost felt more blind, because he was unable to focus so easily on the input of his other senses. He was certain that the improvement was occurring at a rate that was visible, and it was difficult to contain the surging emotion that wanted to crash through his control.

Once they were in the corridor outside Admiral Williams’ office Jim stopped Spock with a hand on his chest.

‘I love you, my precious Vulcan,’ he said.

Spock gave his attention for a moment to the corridor around him, ascertaining that it was apparently empty of anyone but him and his captain, then replied, ‘And I you, my human.’

Jim leant forward to kiss him, and Spock let himself fall against his human and close his eyes and forget anything but the feel of lips against his.

  


 


	27. Chapter 27

[A.N. The good news is that I'm using Nanowrimo this year for slacking off and writing Star Trek instead of 'proper' fiction. That means this story should be finished off pretty quickly!]

For a moment there was a blissful nothing in Spock’s mind as he stood in an embrace with his captain, his Jim. From the first moment of infection on Deneva through to this moment of standing here with sight growing in his eyes had been such a long time. Now there was an end literally in sight and the joy of that thought had opened like a flower in his mind, held tightly behind his rigid mental shields.

As he stood away from Jim logic sank back through his mind. Jim’s thoughts slowly retreated until he was left only with his own mind and his own thoughts. At that moment a realisation sunk in.

‘Jim, we must go to the transporter terminal,’ he said urgently.

‘Spock?’ Jim asked, suddenly alert. ‘What is it?’

‘No time,’ Spock said, grateful that even though Jim was questioning him he had immediately started to walk briskly down the corridor.

‘Then where to?’ Jim asked, accepting Spock’s silence.

‘The apartment.’

‘Spock, they’re not going to let us – ’ Jim began to protest. The headquarters transporter pad was reserved for more vital transports than officers going home.

‘You have Class A emergency clearance,’ Spock said. ‘This is a Class A emergency.’

‘Spock, will you – ’ Jim began, but Spock projected a very firm _not now_ through his thoughts and Jim caught on. It was not something he wanted to say aloud in the corridors of headquarters.

They hurried into an elevator and out again, and then Jim was snapping urgent directions for the transport. The operator seemed so overawed by the orders coming from the captain of the  _Enterprise_ that he did not question them, but immediately entered the coordinates and invited the captain and his first officer onto the pads.

Spock stood still as the transporter gripped them, the solid floor of the transporter booth dissolved, and was replaced by the more textured feel of the path outside their apartment.

‘Jim, the computer,’ he said urgently. ‘We must stop them taking it.’

‘But you said they – ’ Jim began.

‘I’m sure they came in a shuttle but they may be here any moment,’ Spock said. ‘Jim, trust me until I can explain.’

‘Come on,’ Jim said, leading him up the path. Spock caught blurred glimpses of moving greenery and a flat white that must be the front of the building. If he had not been on an urgent errand he would have been captivated, but he ignored the vision and relied on his other senses. He followed Jim up the stairs and in through the door, and felt his captain’s relief as he said, ‘It’s still here, Spock. Look, wait there and I’ll change the door code. They can’t just barge in then – and you can tell me what this is all about.’

Spock moved immediately over to the table where the computer sat, and turned it on, accessing the most recent findings which had been sent to his datapadd.

‘Here, Jim,’ he said. ‘I have transferred the data to your padd. Do you have it here?’

‘It’s still back at mom’s,’ Jim said, coming quickly across to him and standing very close behind him. ‘Let me have a look.’

‘At any rate, it will be preserved on your padd,’ Spock said.

‘Spock are you that worried – ’ Jim began, then said, ‘Here, let me get in, Spock. I need the screen on. Hang on.’

Spock moved out of his chair in deference to Jim, standing behind him as Jim sat down. He rested his fingertips lightly on Jim’s shoulder, feeling the tension through them as his captain accessed the data in a visual form.

He turned his head slightly, thinking he could hear a skimmer drawing up outside.

‘We may not have much time,’ he murmured.

‘Time enough, Spock,’ Jim said. There was a shocked tone to his voice, and he could feel through the contact with Jim’s shoulder his uncertain emotions. ‘Admiral Williams,’ he said.

Spock sighed minutely. ‘That was my suspicion.’

He heard Jim’s shaking exhale at the same time that footsteps began up the stairs outside.

‘They are here, Jim,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But it is highly unlikely that Admiral Williams has confided to them just why is it imperative the data must be recovered. She might, however, have instructed them to destroy the terminal.’

There was a shuffling of something on the desk and Spock heard Jim slip a disc into the slot. He saw it too. He blinked and clearly saw the bright yellow of the disc in Jim’s pink blur of hand, disappearing into a grey mass that was the computer.

The footsteps were on the landing outside, and Spock turned toward the door in anticipation. He could hear the slight noises of the computer processor as it wrote to the disc, and then Jim slipping the disc from the slot and shutting the computer down. Outside a keycode was being entered, incorrectly, it seemed, because there was a mutter of frustration, and then the code was tried again.

Jim got up from the seat with alacrity, murmuring, ‘Just stand back, Spock. I’ll handle it.’

Spock pressed his lips together, but he obeyed, moving over to the kitchen island and going to stand behind it.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ Jim said as the door opened. ‘You’re here for the computer, I guess?’

‘Er – we were sent by Admiral Williams,’ a male voice replied. Spock could make out the blood red of his tunic. ‘She – er – she said you wouldn’t be in. We were authorised to come in, but the keycode didn’t work.’

The surprise and uncertainty was clear in the man’s voice. Spock could see the blurred forms of two other officers with him.

‘We got back a bit earlier than she anticipated,’ Jim said. Spock could hear the smile in his voice. Jim was at his polite, suave, dangerous best. ‘No bother, gentlemen. The computer’s there. Did you just want the memory dump, or were you taking the whole thing? Spock’s blind. He relies on it.’

The man sounded even more uncertain at the mention of Spock’s disability. ‘She said the whole unit, sir. Commander Spock, I’m sorry...’

‘No matter, er – ’ Spock said, and Jim murmured, ‘Lieutenant,’ as he realised Spock’s difficulty.

‘No matter, Lieutenant,’ Spock said again. ‘The removal was authorised.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the man said. The awkwardness filled the room. It was of a kind Spock had grown used to encountering since his blinding in the test chamber on the _Enterprise_ , but it never got more pleasant. He had to hope that the regeneration in his optic nerves meant that soon he would not be subject to it again.

‘Well then, Lieutenant,’ Jim said in that rich, friendly voice again. ‘You’d better take the unit.’

Spock stood with his hands flat on the cool kitchen counter as the three Starfleet officers carefully removed the computer and took their leave. As the door closed he exhaled a long breath. A blur of gold flash in the air and he heard the plastic slap as the disc Jim had flipped up landed back in his palm.

‘It’s time to go higher up the chain of command, Spock,’ he said in a low voice, coming quickly over to the Vulcan. ‘Are you ready to go back to Headquarters?’

‘There is nothing I need,’ Spock said, holding out his hand to Jim’s arm. ‘I am ready.’

The skimmer that Jim had hired was still outside the building, and Spock settled into the familiar seat as Jim got into the pilot’s seat.

‘You read the same data as I did,’ he commented.

‘Absolutely,’ Jim said, his voice tight now. ‘And Admiral Williams is up to her neck in it. It’s a shame, Spock. I liked her.’

‘Hmm,’ Spock replied. He felt slightly uncertain as to how that should affect things. Jim had not known Admiral Williams long enough to gain anything more than a very superficial impression of her character – as was evidenced by this revelation. He sat back in the skimmer seat and ruminated on what had been shown on his computer. Behind all of the other names was Admiral Williams’, similar in importance to the more notable Vulcan names on the list. It had taken considering digging on the part of the computer to unearth her name, but eventually it had done so. Spock’s belief that her name would be there was little more than a hunch, but he would never admit that to Jim. But why had she employed the captain, and Spock by proxy, to investigate the situation? He could only assume that the woman believed that because of his disability he would be incapable of helping to the full extent of his powers. Perhaps she had expected to be able to feed the captain false information. She almost certainly hadn’t expected Spock to discern the Orion element to the plot, or for them both to be abducted by over-eager Orion pirates.

The skimmer tilted smoothly to the left, and Jim said, ‘We’re right outside Headquarters, Spock. We’re taking this directly to Fleet Admiral Hussein.’

Spock cocked an eyebrow. The Fleet Admiral was notoriously difficult to pin down when she was needed, but perhaps if anyone was able to force a meeting with her, Jim Kirk would be the one.

‘Here, Spock, take my arm,’ Jim said as he came around to the passenger side of the vehicle. ‘Okay? I’m sorry about your cane.’

‘I can purchase another,’ Spock said, then added, ‘although perhaps it won’t be needed.’

He felt Jim’s bright joy. ‘Do you really think so, Spock?’

Spock blinked, assessing the blurred and coruscating images in his vision. ‘It is possible,’ he said cautiously.

He followed Jim out of the warm sunshine and into the shade of the building. The receptionist greeted them with surprise, and Jim said quickly, ‘Lieutenant, I need to see the Fleet Admiral. It’s urgent.’

‘Oh, sir, she’s not here today,’ the man replied apologetically. ‘Admiral Williams is taking all her – ’

‘I’m sure she is,’ Jim cut across. ‘Look, I have to see Fleet Admiral Hussein in person. Can you tell me where she is?’

‘Well, er – ’

‘Lieutenant,’ Jim said crisply. ‘Command code 793; Authorisation, Captain Kirk; Code, red. Now, where is Fleet Admiral Hussein?’

The man was silent for a moment, then said, ‘If you’d just step over to the transporter, sir, I can get you right there.’

Spock exhaled silently. Being captain did have some privileges. Such a command code was beyond his remit even as the second in command of a Constitution class vessel. He followed Jim to the small transporter, and felt his body begin to be disassembled by the beam.

He rematerialised somewhere surprisingly cold. He could hear the splashing of water and smell the scent of it, warm and steamy against the chill of the air.

‘Jim?’ he asked quietly.

‘I have no idea,’ Jim murmured back. ‘Snow, hot springs. It looks like early morning. I _think_ we might be in Japan. And – er – there’s the Fleet Commander,’ he added in a rather awkward tone.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. Briefly he let his mind reach out towards Jim’s to gain an impression of the impressive and dignified Fleet Admiral up to her neck in hot water, wearing no more than a bathing suit. As he processed that image he heard the water splash and then a rather shocked, ‘Captain – Captain Kirk, is it? Damn this steam. Captain Kirk, what is it?’

Jim cleared his throat. ‘Fleet Admiral, I’m afraid I’ve got something very serious to report to you.’

‘Admiral Williams is supposed to handle everything, Captain,’ the woman replied crisply. ‘Why on earth – ’

There was splashing, and Spock caught the sight of skin tones and black moving against a haze of white as the Fleet Admiral made her way out of the water. Those colours were enveloped in white – a bath robe, he assumed.

‘Come inside, gentlemen,’ the woman said briskly. ‘No, Peterson, there’s no need,’ she added, presumably to an aide or servant. ‘Captain Kirk, what is so important that you have to interrupt my retreat? Frankly I’m not at all set up for business here.’

‘Ma’am, if you have a computer that’s all we need,’ Jim said in a low voice. ‘Spock, two steps up. Okay?’

The Fleet Admiral’s curiosity was sharp and hard edged as Spock followed her and Jim into the room.

‘All right, Kirk, explain,’ the woman said as the door closed behind them. Spock relaxed minutely in the sudden warmth. ‘Have a seat,’ she added.

Spock was rather grateful that he could not see as he heard the obvious sounds of the Fleet Admiral moving about the room drying herself off. He knew that she was a woman in her fifties, slim, with black and steel grey hair. He had no interest in seeing her in a bathing costume. He sat in the soft chair that Jim took him to, and waited for the captain to take the lead.

‘I apologise for barging in on you like this, ma’am,’ Jim said quickly.

‘Well, I know you wouldn’t have been given my location for anything less than a code red, Captain,’ the woman replied, her voice fading as she apparently ducked out of the room for something. ‘Carry on, Kirk. I can hear you quite clearly.’

Jim cleared his throat, obviously a little uncomfortable with the situation, then began, ‘Ma’am, you know that I’ve been investigating the apparent conspiracy to destabilise Starfleet and Federation relations.’

‘Yes, yes, Kirk. Admiral Williams believed Vulcans were involved. Hard to credit, but there it is. Devious bastards, some of them.’

Spock put his hands together, studiously steepling his fingers and making sure that his expression was neutral as the Fleet Admiral came back into the room.

‘No offence, Mr Spock,’ the woman said. ‘After all, a lot of humans are devious bastards too, wouldn’t you agree?’

Spock lifted his head, pausing a moment before replying, ‘Unquestionably, ma’am.’

‘Ma’am, Commander Spock and I have been digging into the issue and we’ve uncovered disturbing evidence,’ Jim continued. ‘It looks like Admiral Williams herself is elbow deep in the conspiracy. We’ve got all the evidence on this disc here. We managed to back it up about two minutes before Admiral Williams’ people came to take the computer.’

‘The computer will now either be destroyed or the data so altered as to show no evidence of Admiral Williams’ part in the conspiracy,’ Spock put in gravely.

There was silence in the room. Spock could feel the Fleet Admiral’s shock and disbelief like a wall before him.

‘The evidence is here, ma’am,’ Jim said gravely.

The silence stretched out a little longer, and then the woman came across the room to take the disc from Jim’s hand. Spock could not tell what she was wearing now, but she had evidently changed from the white robe, possibly into uniform, since there were flashes of gold. Spock heard the hum of a computer being brought to life, and the soft slip and click of the disc being pushed home. There was a long silence, then the Fleet Admiral sucked in breath through her teeth.

‘Well I’ll be...’ she murmured.

‘Fleet Admiral, Vulcan High Council Leader Stonek is currently arriving on Earth,’ Spock said gravely. ‘If he is allowed free roam amongst important Starfleet and Federation members the damage could be irreparable.’

‘I was enjoying this short break, too,’ the Fleet Admiral murmured regretfully. She was silent again, then said briskly, ‘Well, Captain, Commander. I suppose I’ll have to get back to base, eh? And by all accounts you two are due for some R&R. I’d like the pair of you to stay here for now. No, that’s an order, Captain,’ she said over the beginning of Kirk’s protest. ‘I’m not just being kind, Captain. Very few people know where I am. The transporter is coded so even the operator doesn’t know just where he’s sending people. You know I like my privacy when I’m off duty. Considering the pair of you were recently snatched from the surface of the planet by Orions and you’re at risk until I’ve put down the rest of this conspiracy, I want you to stay here incognito for now. I’ve got all the evidence I need on this disc and copied to my terminal. I’ll leave Peterson at your service. Don’t worry – I’ll call and let him know once I’m back at Headquarters. Make yourselves at home for the day, take full advantage of the place, and I’ll be back later.’

A communicator chirped, and the woman said briskly, ‘Fleet Admiral Hussein here. Prepare to transport me to Headquarters, my office. Encryption code Z-7523.’

There was a warm hum, and Spock saw the blurred figure of the Fleet Admiral disappear in a golden shimmer. He blinked and rubbed his fingertip carefully over his eye.

‘All right, Spock?’ Jim asked solicitously.

‘Quite fine, Jim,’ he nodded. ‘There is some small discomfort, but nothing to be concerned about.’

‘I’d be a whole lot happier if you could get to an ophthalmologist,’ Jim said darkly.

‘I would prefer an examination too,’ Spock nodded. ‘But there is nothing to be done for it at the present time.’

There was a subtle movement and a man cleared his throat in the doorway. ‘Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Fleet Admiral Hussein asked me to extend every courtesy to you. She asked me to pass on her strong recommendation for trying the hot springs. I can provide trunks.’

‘What do you say, Spock?’ Jim asked with a tone of mischief in his voice. ‘How do you fancy trying out the hot springs?’

Spock felt doubtful to say the least. ‘I assume there are no macaques sharing the water?’ he asked dubiously. He did not want to admit aloud to his reluctance to submerge himself in water he could not see, but perhaps a reluctance to share the water with other primates would be acceptable.

‘Not a one,’ Jim assured him.

Spock concealed his disappointment.

‘I’m quite content to wait here while you bathe,’ he tried.

‘Nonsense, Spock,’ Jim said briskly. ‘Peterson, will you organise those trunks and some towels? Spock, you’ll love it once you’re in, I promise you.’

Spock still felt highly doubtful, but it was not long before he and Jim were both clad in tight fitting swimming trunks and he was holding cautiously to Jim’s arm as the human helped him navigate down uneven and worn stone steps into the water.

‘Peterson told me the pool’s been used for most of the last millennia,’ he told Spock, steadying him as he slipped a little. ‘No wonder the steps are worn.’

Spock concentrated on stepping down, closing his eyes against the treacherously fluctuating blur of water before him. The water was at least a hot relief after the chill of the air, as it covered his feet, then lower legs, then crept up over his thighs and up to his hips.

‘There’s a bit of a natural seat here,’ Jim told him, steering him through the water. ‘Yes, here. That’s it. No, it’s all right, you won’t be more than neck deep. Trust me.’

At that Spock relaxed into his captain's guidance and let him help him onto the rock shelf. He had always trusted Jim when asked to. The water washed up over his chest, but as Jim had promised it came no further. He leant his head back against the smooth rock behind, and closed his eyes. Steam rose around him, wreathing into his nostrils as he breathed, and the water gently sloshed and rippled as Jim sat beside him. As long as he trusted Jim, he was content. He was very unlikely to drown.

He reflected on the strangeness of the situation, ricocheting from captivity on the Orion ship to transport on the  _Cairo_ , to Starfleet Headquarters, then home, and now here, in a natural rock pool high up on a Japanese mountainside. It was hard to relax entirely, knowing that on the other side of the planet the Fleet Admiral was presumably putting wheels in motion to intercept and arrest the major movers in the conspiracy. He was certain, at least, that Fleet Admiral Hussein wasn't complicit in the plot. All the evidence suggested that on Earth the plot rose no higher than Williams.

  
  



	28. Chapter 28

Spock sat in the water with his eyes closed against the confusing blur before him. Beneath the surface Jim’s hand was on his thigh. The water washed seductively around him, lapping at his collarbones and neck, bubbles tracking capriciously up his legs and flanks and chest until they were released at the surface. Spock carefully extended his awareness of the minds in the locality to assure himself that the Fleet Admiral’s aide was not nearby before laying his hand over Jim’s and interweaving his fingers.

‘Guilt, Spock?’ Jim asked after a moment.

Spock turned his head toward the flesh-coloured blur of Jim’s face. He had never thought he would see anything approaching that again, even if as sight it left a lot to be desired. He examined his own emotions, intrigued, as always, that Jim had picked them up before he himself was aware of them.

‘Not guilt precisely,’ he replied, turning his head back and closing his eyes again. ‘But after we have been at the centre of this investigation for some time – ’

‘And it’s strange to be lying in a hot spring somewhere in Japan doing absolutely nothing after what we’ve been through for the past few days?’

‘It is certainly a contrast,’ Spock said.

Jim’s fingers tightened on his. ‘Don’t knock it, Spock. We deserve it, both of us. It’s kind of the Fleet Admiral to let us stay here instead of shipping us back to headquarters. I don’t know how expensive this place is, but I think it’s beyond our budget.’

Spock nodded. Jim’s hand strayed across his thigh and up towards the tight-fitting swimwear. As Jim’s fingers brushed over the contours beneath the slick fabric Spock shivered despite the heat of the water. A very human part of him wished that there were no Peterson at all, that they were in complete privacy, they they weren’t taking advantage of the Fleet Admiral’s hospitality but in a hot tub of their own, far away from prying eyes.

‘Later,’ Jim murmured, and Spock allowed himself a subtle smile.

‘You are becoming very proficient at mind reading, Jim.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Jim returned. Spock could hear his grin in the way he spoke. He let his barriers relax further, until he could fully sense his partner’s thoughts. Heat rose into his cheeks as he realised they were quite pornographic as Jim imagined what he and Spock could achieve in this secluded hot spring. He brushed his hand sideways and discovered that the human was quite hard inside the clinging swimming trunks.

‘It’s all right, the water’s full of bubbles,’ Jim assured him. ‘Besides, there’s so much mist rising from the water I can barely see a metre.’

Spock let his hand move over the hardness with a little more pressure, and Jim made a soft sound of pleasure, but then the human took Spock’s arm by the wrist and moved it away with a low chuckle.

‘God, Spock, much as I’d love to, I can’t imagine the Fleet Admiral would take kindly to discovering someone had orgasmed in her exclusive hot spring,’ he said in a low murmur.

Spock caught Jim’s humour and let it set light inside him. While he didn’t feel comfortable showing such emotion, and he tried to keep it restrained within himself, it was a pleasure to share Jim’s happiness.

He opened his eyes, and gasped. There, in the centre of his vision, he could clearly see Jim’s face! No, not quite clearly. It was clear to him, clear compared to absolute darkness and blurred colours. He could make out the line of Jim’s nose, the arch of an eyebrow, the hazel eye beneath. When he moved his head the small circle of vision moved so he could see Jim’s other eye, then an ear, then his damp and dripping hair where it lay plastered on his forehead.

He must have shown his amazement, because Jim asked in concern, ‘Spock? What is it?’

‘Jim... This,’ he said, reached out an unerring hand to touch Jim’s face. ‘This. I can see you. From here, to here,’ he said, touching a fingertip to the side of Jim’s cheek, and then to the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s clear – almost clear.’

He stared closer, seeing the light of Jim’s smile in his eye, moving his head again so that he could see the origin of that light in the up-curve of his lips.

‘Jim, I can see you,’ he said quietly.

He felt Jim’s joy through the contact with his temple as much as he saw it in his face. He saw Jim lean forward, coming close to put his hand behind the Vulcan’s head and lean in with a slow, languorous kiss. Spock kept his eyes open, taking in the slightly out of focus image of water droplets on Jim’s face, the grey swirls of mist beyond, the water darkened strands of his hair. It was almost too much to believe, even after the slow return to light and colour.

‘I love you, my precious Vulcan,’ Jim murmured as he pulled away from the kiss.

Spock’s body felt as if it were on fire, all of his lust and desire concentrated into a sharp need in his loins. ‘As I do you,  t’hy’la,’ he replied in a low rumble, stroking his fingertips down Jim’s wet face. He would have given a large amount of credits to be instantly transported to a place of absolute privacy.

‘Later, Spock,’ Jim promised, reading his thoughts. ‘Later, my love.’

Spock closed his eyes again and subsided against the smooth rocky side of the pool, willing his body to stand down its arousal and let him relax. He was struck with the desire to swim, to wear out some of the energy that was surging inside him. It had been a long time since he had gained any meaningful exercise.

‘The pool’s big enough for swimming,’ Jim assured him, squeezing his hand. ‘Peterson said it’s a natural pool but it’s quite smooth.

Spock pushed himself off the rock seat and walked experimentally deeper into the water. His small circle of vision didn’t seem so useful when he wanted to be mobile, but it was enough to let him know if collision was imminent, which was more than he had possessed until now. He enjoyed a stately but refreshing swim around the pool until he felt Jim becoming bored, as he often did without any focussed activity.

‘Jim, why do you not join me?’ he asked. He felt buoyant with his new freedom.

‘To tell you the truth, Spock, I’m getting hungry,’ Jim admitted. ‘And I flicked through the service menu before we came out. They have a sushi selection to die for. Since we don’t know when the Fleet Admiral’s going to come back and throw us out of here I want to make the most of it.’

Spock allowed his body to float in the water for a moment more before righting himself and making his way towards the human.

‘Let me help you, Spock,’ Jim offered. ‘If you need it?’

‘I believe I do,’ Spock said, turning his head from side to side to try to see where the steps from the pool were. ‘I have quite severely limited tunnel vision.’

‘But vision,’ Jim said, as if he were talking of a miracle.

‘But vision,’ Spock agreed.

He took Jim’s arm and allowed him to help him out of the pool and to where the bathrobes were waiting to envelop them. Spock relaxed into the sudden warmth after the chill of standing wet and almost naked in the cold air, then followed Jim into the house. He sat while Jim ordered food, just looking at everything around him.

Turning away from the order comm, Jim laughed suddenly.

‘Spock, you look like an owl looking around like that.’

‘Imagine looking through a hole the size of a pea,’ Spock told him. ‘Moving my head is the only way to gain a more complete picture.’

Jim held his own hand up before his face, making a pea-sized aperture with his thumb and finger. ‘I take your point,’ he said.

Spock gasped suddenly, pressing a hand over his eye as his vision exploded in multicoloured lines and flashes.

‘Spock?’ Jim asked instantly.

‘It is all right,’ Spock said, swallowing hard against the nausea that was provoked by the sudden assault. ‘I think – a reaction – perhaps I have over-strained the nerves...’

Jim was by his side in an instant. ‘That’s it, Spock. I need to get someone to check you out,’ he said. ‘Regardless of what the Fleet Admiral said. We can get someone here. Peterson?’ he called, raising his voice. ‘ _Peterson_!’

Footsteps sounded outside, and Peterson came into the room. ‘Yes, sir?’ he asked smoothly, showing no reaction to Spock’s evident discomfort.

‘Peterson, I need you to get a doctor up here – an ophthalmologist if possible. Commander Spock needs to have his eyes checked out right away.’

‘Captain, Fleet Admiral Hussein clearly said – ’ the man began.

Jim put his hand on Spock’s wrist, pulling it from his face. ‘Look at him, Lieutenant. Spock needs attention, and he needs it now. If you’re responsible for any further damage to his sight, then I’ll – ’

Jim never voiced his threat, but obviously his tone of voice was enough, because Peterson suddenly muttered apologies and moved quickly to the comm. Spock pressed his hand back to his face, carefully controlling the concern he felt and working on processing the strange flashing images that were still there even behind his pressing palm. He did not believe that the coruscations and flashes were symptomatic of deterioration, but rather of improvement. The strange images had been growing in intensity along with the improvement in his sight, and he wondered if it were simply a reaction of healing nerves overloaded with impulse for the first time in a long while.

The doctor was there very soon, a small Japanese man with an intense attitude, and Spock sat upright on a sofa while the man sat before him on a dinner chair, carefully shining light into his eyes and monitoring the reaction.

‘I’m not entirely familiar with Vulcan physiology,’ he kept saying. ‘It would be better to consult the xeno-biological hospital in Tokyo.’

‘We don’t have permission to leave right at this moment,’ Jim said rather tightly. ‘Spock, how is it now?’

‘Bearable,’ Spock said, although each time the man shone his bright light into the Vulcan’s eyes the flashing and coruscating reaction grew more intense.

‘I’m unfamiliar with the nerve structure,’ the doctor said again, ‘but I don’t think you need to be worried, Commander Spock. It seems to me that there’s a great deal of accelerated healing happening in both eyes. Your nerves are healing faster than your body can process, leading to a lot of distorted feedback. To put it simply, your nerves and brain don’t know what to do with the impulses they’re getting. I’d suggest shading your eyes for a while, Commander. Dark glasses or a darkened room. Any way to stop the overload of input while your nerves recover.’

‘But they _are_ continuing to recover?’ Jim asked anxiously.

‘Oh yes,’ the doctor replied. ‘Yes, I’m seeing an astonishing degree of regeneration. It must be a benefit of your Vulcan heritage, Commander. I’ve never seen anything on this scale.’

Spock lifted an eyebrow. It seemed that the regeneration was proceeding at a pace faster even than was seen by the doctor on the  _Cairo_ . That assumption was certainly backed up by what he was experiencing.

‘Then there’s nothing else you can do?’ Jim asked.

‘That’s my prescription, Captain. Shade and rest for the eyes. See an ophthalmologist as soon as possible, preferably one familiar with Vulcan eye construction. The way Commander Spock is progressing I wouldn’t be surprised if he has viable vision very soon.’

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Spock said, rising from the sofa as the doctor got up.

‘Not a problem at all, Commander,’ the doctor said genially. ‘No, don’t worry, I can see myself out,’ he added as Jim made a move to escort him to the door.

Spock sat back down onto the sofa as the man left, and Jim dropped beside him. Spock could feel his joy thick in the air, and he allowed himself to catch hold of it and share it second-hand. His own joy was leaping inside him, but he kept it from reaching his face, aware of the presence of Peterson in the house.

‘Damn, I wish we were alone so we could celebrate,’ Jim said in a low voice.

‘Again, inappropriate, I think, in the Fleet Admiral’s house,’ Spock responded, although he let Jim feel his own deep flare of desire and joy.

‘Well, at any rate, Spock, maybe we can celebrate over a meal,’ Jim grinned. ‘That sushi’s waiting, don’t forget.’

 

((O))

 

Later they sat in the quiet living room with the news channel on, having satiated their appetites on platters of sushi, vegetarian for Spock. Spock sat with his eyes closed, declining Jim’s offer to seek out some dark classes and trusting to his own discipline to simply rest his eyes.

‘I want you to wear something when we’re outside, though,’ Jim said firmly. ‘You may be able to keep them closed, but the sun’s bright even through eyelids.’

‘I will, Jim,’ Spock promised.

Suddenly Jim sat a little straighter, turning the volume up on the comcast. ‘Spock, they’re reporting from Fleet Headquarters. There’s a whole swarm of reporters outside, it looks like.’

Spock instantly became alert, turning his ear towards the sound and concentrating. He heard a journalist speaking of corruption at the deepest levels in Starfleet, of a destabilisation plot of an unknown nature. He heard Jim’s name spoken, and his own, and then mention of Admiral Williams. ‘Fleet Admiral Hussein declined to comment,’ the male voice continued.

‘Well, that’s that,’ Jim said as the report ended and he turned the volume down on the channel. ‘Good thing we’re here, Spock. I get the feeling if we were on the scene they’d be angling for an interview with us. Can you imagine what the journalists would make of your story? Blind, in on the investigation, abducted by Orions.’

Spock concealed the full measure of his relief that that had not happened.

‘Note there was no mention of Vulcan involvement, or of High Council Leader Stonek,’ Spock pointed out. ‘Nor was there mention of the death of Stolk on an Orion ship.’

‘There was a brief mention just now that High Council Leader Stonek’s visit to Earth had been cancelled. At least, I think that was the gist of it. I had the sound turned down. But they didn’t link it to the conspiracy.’

‘Diplomacy at its best,’ Spock said smoothly. ‘It is not in anyone’s interest to mention Vulcan involvement. That could precipitate the very mistrust and destabilisation that the plot was aiming for.’

He turned at the sound of a transporter materialisation, dutifully keeping his eyes closed even though he wanted to use the small amount of sight he had. The flashes in his vision had settled down greatly since he had allowed his eyes to rest.

‘It’s the Fleet Admiral, Spock,’ Jim said before the noise had died away, and he and Spock both got respectfully to their feet. ‘Ma’am,’ Jim said courteously as the woman stepped forward.

‘Captain Kirk, Commander Spock,’ she replied. ‘Ah, I see you’ve been watching the news channel. I guess you’re caught up with everything that’s happened – everything that’s been reported, at least.’

‘Everything that was on the newscast, yes, ma’am,’ Jim acknowledged.

‘Well, that was the gist of it. Of course we didn’t give them any behind-the-scenes gossip, but there wasn’t much to tell. We’ve rounded up all the names on your list, Commander Spock. Preliminary exams show that some of them are Orions surgically altered to pass as various Starfleet members. Of course one of our priorities now is to find out what’s happened to the people they replaced.’

‘Possibly they have been abducted and sold into slavery,’ Spock said gravely.

‘Very possible,’ the woman agreed. ‘Or killed, of course. So far they’ve been single people, no families, few friends – no one to noticed they’ve been replaced. Once we have everyone in custody we’re going to have to open up a Federation-wide investigation to find out what happened to them.’

‘And High Council Leader Stonek, ma’am?’ Spock asked cautiously.

‘In custody too,’ she nodded. ‘Although we didn’t release _that_ to the press. We’re keeping the Vulcan side of this very quiet for fear of stirring up just the unrest they were hoping for. We’ll let the authorities on Vulcan deal with the Vulcan nationals.’

‘A sensible precaution,’ Spock murmured.

‘And Admiral Williams?’ Jim asked with rather more trepidation.

‘Ah yes, Admiral Williams too,’ Fleet Admiral Hussein said with a note of regret in her voice. ‘She was the last person I suspected of anything like this. The first person I put onto the case to investigate. I suppose she thought by being in control she could control what her investigators found out. It was a good thing she chose you and Commander Spock. A bad choice on her part, but a very good one on ours.’

Spock nodded, still keeping his eyes tightly closed against the light in the room.

‘Commander Spock, are you quite all right?’ the Fleet Admiral suddenly asked. ‘Are you in pain?’

‘I am not in pain,’ Spock assured her quickly, relaxing his eyelids somewhat. ‘I began to suffer a certain amount of problems with my regenerating optic nerves and was advised by a doctor to keep my eyes shaded.’

‘I would have got him to a hospital, but your orders were to remain here, ma’am,’ Jim said rather pointedly.

‘You’re both completely free to go, Captain,’ the Fleet Admiral said in a conciliatory tone. ‘There’s no danger to you now this thing’s been busted wide open. Commander Spock, I’d suggest getting attention as soon as possible. We want you _both_ back on the _Enterprise_ , you know.’

‘Well, thank you, ma’am,’ Jim said quickly. ‘We’re both eager to get back there.’

Spock felt quietly amused at Jim’s deference to the woman. Of course he was always respectful of his superiors, especially if their behaviour demanded respect, but in Jim’s day to day life on the  _Enterprise_ he was usually the highest ranking person in the area and he was not used to hearing him speaking in such a deferential tone.

‘Where do you want to be transported to, gentlemen?’ the Fleet Admiral asked. ‘Headquarters, or shall I send you straight to the Fleet hospital in San Francisco?’

Spock waited for a beat to see if Jim was going to speak, then said, ‘Since I must necessarily make arrangements with the hospital before turning up there, Headquarters would be quite adequate.’

‘Headquarters it is. Are you both ready to go? I hope you enjoyed your day, gentlemen.’

‘Oh, we did, ma’am,’ Jim said with feeling. Spock caught his projected sense of mischief and arousal, and almost flushed. They had done nothing, exactly, in that hot spring outside, but a recounting of what had passed through their minds in the water would probably have left the Fleet Commander mortified.

‘Well, by all accounts you’ve had a rough time recently. I think you deserved it, gentlemen.’

Spock heard a communicator flip open, and the Fleet Admiral gave the order for their transportation. The room dissolved in a shimmer that at first touched his cells and then penetrated far enough to send shivering gold lights into his vision. As he rematerialised in the bright warmth of San Francisco the coruscating flashes swelled and almost overwhelmed him to the point of nausea. Jim grabbed hold of his arm as he stumbled.

‘All right, Spock?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Jim,’ he said rather tightly. ‘Although I am beginning to agree with Doctor Akutagawa about the need for some kind of external eye shade.’

‘That’s it, we’re going straight to the hospital,’ Jim said firmly. ‘It’s your eye sight, Spock. It’s too important to risk. The skimmer’s still here. We can go right there.’

Spock did not demur, but followed Jim quietly to the skimmer, keeping his eyes tightly shut against the bright Californian sun. If his vision were indeed returning it was a wonderful thing, but having to put up with the side effects was quite unpleasant.


	29. Chapter 29

It wasn’t long before Spock was sitting in the consulting room of an eminent xeno-biology ophthalmologist, who confirmed what the Japanese doctor had told him. His optic nerves were healing at an astonishing rate and the flashes and coruscations were a symptom of that. There was nothing to be done but to wear dark glasses and rest his eyes as much as possible while the growth was under way.

‘I’ve never seen nerve regrowth at this pace, Commander Spock,’ the doctor admitted. ‘Indications are that the nerves were almost completely atrophied, but at this rate you might have normal vision back in as little as two weeks.’

Spock contained his happiness until they were out of the doctor’s office, his eyes covered by utilitarian dark glasses supplied by the hospital. Once they were in the skimmer he allowed himself to feel the joy rippling through him, but it wasn’t until the vehicle was in motion that he physically relaxed.

‘Two weeks, Spock,’ Jim said in an ecstatic tone. ‘ _Two weeks!_ ’

‘Yes,’ Spock said quietly. He was not sure how to express his happiness without a completely unseemly display. He rested back into his seat, closing his eyes, feeling the unaccustomed strength of the emotion rushing through him. For a reason he couldn’t fathom he had the urge to cry.

The skimmer accelerated, and Spock sat quietly, assuming that Jim was taking them back to the apartment, but when the vehicle descended and the door opened he could smell the scent of the sea.

‘Jim?’ he asked.

I thought you might like to get away from it all for a few hours,’ Jim said, coming round to Spock’s side of the skimmer and taking his arm to help him out. ‘Rough ground. It’s grass, a bit clumpy,’ he said.

Spock extended his newly replaced cane and tapped it onto the ground. The glasses he wore were almost entirely opaque, and shaded ninety percent of the light from his eyes. The end of the cane caught in tangled grass, and he could hear the sound of waves surging off to his right. The sun was pleasantly hot on the top of his head, and there was very little wind. He followed Jim down an undulating slope and onto the sand.

‘Place is deserted,’ Jim murmured. ‘It’s perfect.’

Together they walked down to a place near the shushing waves and settled on the sand, which had soaked up the heat of the sun. Spock rested back onto the ground and let the heat push up into his bones from below and seep in from above, feeling supremely relaxed.

‘I almost can’t believe it,’ Jim said, moving up so he was very close to the Vulcan on the sand.

‘The nerve regeneration is a fact,’ Spock said, ‘but I, too, have difficulty in realising the reality of the situation.’

‘Wait till we tell Bones,’ Jim said gleefully. ‘He’ll be over the moon.’

‘Since the good doctor is well outside of Earth’s orbit he is already, quite literally, over the moon,’ Spock pointed out.

Jim laughed, and the laugh rose with the wind, bell-like and clear, startling seagulls into taking off and crying aloud.

‘Spock, you have the best poker face of anyone I’ve ever known,’ he said.

Spock lay with his face to the sky, listening to the sounds crowding around him and imagining being able to see all those things that he could hear with his previous perfect clarity.

‘Hey, Spock, the beach is deserted,’ Jim said in a low, husky voice.

Spock extended his mental awareness, feeling out for other minds nearby. He could sense nothing but the low-level mass of animal life. There was nothing with the piercing intelligence of humanity, except perhaps something that seemed decidedly cetacean somewhere out beyond the waves.

‘Yes, I believe we are alone,’ he nodded.

‘Have you ever tried skinny dipping?’

Spock lifted an eyebrow under the opaque glasses. ‘ _Skinny dipping_ , Captain?’ he repeated curiously. 

‘Swimming in your birthday suit, Spock. _Nude_ ,’ Jim clarified.

Spock’s eyebrow lifted even further.

‘I don’t believe I have,’ he said.

‘Well I think it’s time to have a go,’ Jim said with a wicked tone in his voice.

‘Jim – ’ Spock began. Only this morning he had been immersed up to his neck in a hot spring, and now Jim wanted to entice him into the Pacific ocean

‘Come on, Spock,’ Jim wheedled. ‘You’ve had restrictions and restraints up to here recently. Come and be free for a bit.’

Spock sighed. ‘You are sure we are alone?’ he asked, even though he had already assured himself of that fact.

‘I can’t see a soul,’ Jim replied. ‘I deliberately took you somewhere isolated.’

‘Almost as if you planned this,’ Spock replied archly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

‘Spock!’ Jim said in a wounded voice. Then he said, ‘Well, that session in the hot springs this morning did leave me a little – wanting, shall we say?’

Spock shook his head, but he dutifully began to remove his clothes, although he left the dark glasses on in deference to his sensitive sight.

‘Oh, dear god, Spock,’ Jim murmured as the Vulcan dropped his trousers and began to push down his underpants.

‘This does not quite seem fair,’ Spock said. He had nothing to view as Jim had, but he could hear the human swiftly disrobing. For just a moment he raised the dark glasses and squinted in the sudden light, turning his head until he caught a glimpse of Jim’s bronzed chest, his muscular arm, and then down to the red-brown curls between his legs and the soft human-pink penis there.

‘Spock, put those back on!’ Jim said immediately, his concern for Spock’s eyesight overriding everything else. ‘You can’t take the risk!’

‘I believe it was worth it,’ Spock replied. He felt a warm sense of satisfaction at seeing what he had been missing for so long, and a sudden urge to be in the water where his and Jim’s bodies would be somewhat concealed from any unexpected eyes. ‘Jim,’ he said, holding out his hand.

Jim’s cool fingers slipped into his and he followed his lover’s pull over the hot sand towards the sound of the curling waves. When the water touched his feet he almost cried out. It was a good deal colder than the Japanese spring – but conversely the air was a lot warmer. A wave foamed over his feet and up his shins, and Jim tugged him further into the sea. The water crept up his legs, then another wave slapped across his pelvis in a chill surprise, and he gasped aloud.

Jim stopped to put his hands on both of Spock’s arms, and kiss him. ‘Not too cold?’ he asked anxiously.

‘It is tolerable,’ Spock said. The thought of being alone and naked with Jim in the water was enough to warm him.

He followed Jim further in, the soft sand slipping between his toes and the water rising ever higher until it sucked forward and fell back about his chest. Then Jim stopped and stepped close to him, taking him in his arms and kissing him with a passion that pushed away all the chill of the water. He could feel Jim’s erection pressing against his leg, long and hard, and his own was rising to match it. Another wave surged in and splashed them, and Jim broke away from the kiss, laughing and gasping.

‘God, Spock, it is a bit cold, isn’t it?’ he admitted.

‘No,’ Spock said in a husky voice, pulling Jim into a kiss again. His lips pressed hot against Jim’s and the human’s mouth opened to his searching tongue. He felt Jim’s teeth, pearl-like and smooth. He tasted the sweet alien saliva and breathed in his breath. Need overcame him, and he growled. He wanted Jim _now_ and there was no proper way of having him here in the surging tide. He slipped his arms more tightly around Jim’s back, feeling the smooth skin and the firm muscles beneath, the beads of his spine and the lines of his ribs.

‘Mine,’ he murmured, his hand slipping down between Jim’s legs, fingers entwining in the water-buoyed hair and then closing around the firm stem of his erection. ‘Yes, you are mine.’

‘God,’ Jim ground out as Spock pumped with his fist. ‘God, Spock, yes, I’m yours. I’m yours...’

Spock’s other hand cupped the tight, chill scrotum, his fingers searched behind to stroke the perineum, to press into the puckered opening beyond. Jim moaned aloud and Spock pumped his hand more firmly on the rock-hard erection, his own rigid organ yearning for the same release. He kissed Jim again, stroking his fist harder and faster, feeling the tight opening clench about the fingers of his other hand. And then Jim cried out and the rod of flesh jerked in his grip, sending his seed flowing into the waters of the ocean. After a moment Spock withdrew his hands and Jim went slack against him, panting and moaning lightly.

‘Not enough,’ Spock murmured. ‘It is not enough.’

Blindly he waded through the water back towards the sound of the breaking waves, pulling Jim with him, until the water was no more than ankle deep. His erection yearned for release in a need that ached through his loins.

‘Down, there,’ Spock growled, feeling incapable of sophisticated utterances.

He pushed Jim down onto the sand in the softly breaking surf, his head just above the level of the waves, and kissed him again, running fingers through sandy hair, and then searching back for that tight opening between his legs. Jim’s thighs fell open, and Spock lay over him, slipping his erection home into the hot, tight channel as his fingertips caressed Jim’s face and caught the sparking thoughts in his mind. Jim’s arousal met his own, tightening around it, together becoming two flames that burnt stronger and harder as Spock pushed forward into Jim’s body, withdrew, pushed again. He caught Jim’s dizzying pleasure as the soft-hard tip of his erection pressed over Jim’s prostate, he caught the longing as he withdrew and the sense of joy as he came back home. Together their arousal grew until Spock was conscious of nothing but the shared pleasure, and it exploded like fireworks in his mind.

Afterwards, he lay over Jim’s body, the foam of the waves surging up over his legs in tickling caresses, his heart beating against Jim’s chest, Jim’s arms around his slick wet back, holding him tight.

‘I love you, I love you,’ Jim murmured.

‘T’hy’la,’ Spock whispered in response. There was a curious urge in him to cry again, and he held it tightly back as Jim’s hand stroked over his dripping hair. The sun shone down hotly on his shoulders, pushing warmth back into his blood, and he lay still with the sunglasses cutting out the light and sight from his eyes, and he felt overwhelmed 

‘It’s going to happen, Spock,’ Jim whispered, catching his feelings through the touch. ‘It _is_ going to happen. You’re going to see.’

Spock did not reply verbally, but Jim sensed his acknowledgement.

‘Come on,’ Jim said eventually. ‘You’ll get cold. Let’s move back up the beach and dry off in the sun. I neglected to bring towels.’

‘An oversight indeed,’ Spock murmured, standing up and feeling an immediate increase in warmth as he stepped away from the waves. The heat rose up from the sand and the sun beat down and began to dry the water from his body. He extended his awareness again to be sure that he and Jim were still alone, and again sensed no minds but those of wildlife. When he sat back down on the sand where they had left their clothes he had processed and moved aside the strange urge to cry, and felt content.

‘You know, I think it’s time to say goodbye to San Francisco and go visit mom again,’ Jim said as he sat beside Spock on the sand. ‘You don’t need to be on the rehabilitation programme any more, and my job here is certainly over. The ship’s due back past Earth in two weeks. I don’t think there’ll be any problem with us rejoining from there. I have plenty of leave stacked up for the intervening time and, god willing, by the time the ship gets here you’ll be able to see.’

‘‘God’ plays no part,’ Spock corrected his partner gently, ‘but if my natural healing processes allow then – then, yes, I will be able to see,’ he said, as if he could not quite believe it himself. He had almost given up on the idea in order to be able to accept his blindness and now it seemed it was hard to convince himself of the reality of his healing.

Jim slipped an arm around his shoulders, and Spock leant closer to him. The waves whispered softly on the sand and seagulls called above him, and he imagined the sight of all of that around him, the sight he would be able to glimpse at if he just removed the thick glasses. He ached to see that almost as much as he had ached for Jim a few tens of minutes ago. He had the self discipline to stop himself, but he wanted to so much...

‘It’s not so much to see,’ Jim assured him quietly. ‘Sea, sand, sky. Nothing else.’

‘Birds,’ Spock added.

‘I can’t see the birds,’ Jim said in a tone of challenge. ‘I can hear them, but they must be behind us right now. Tell me what you can sense, Spock. I bet it’s more than sea, sand, sky.’

Spock closed his eyes and relaxed against Jim. ‘The birds,’ he said first. ‘California gull, Western gull, Heerman’s gull. American crow. Various smaller birds in the vegetation behind us. Shall I name the ones I recognise?’

‘Spock, I never expected you to be so familiar with the native birds of California,’ Jim said in astonishment.

‘You forget I was at the Academy here,’ Spock reminded him. He remembered long days and evenings of solitary walks along the beaches and through the hills. It was not in him to see or hear a bird, see a flower or plant, catch sight of an interesting geological feature, and not want to find out all he could about it, so he had generally carried a padd connected to the world-net.

‘And that’s why you’re the best science officer the ship’s ever had,’ Jim said with a kind of joyful pride in his voice. ‘Okay, Spock. What else?’

Spock dampened his awareness of Jim’s mind and extended it to the minds around them.

‘The minds of numerous animals,’ he said. ‘Minuscule sparks from crustaceans and smaller fish. Birds. Small mammals. I think there are deer in the hills. And cetaceans. They may be dolphins. And – ’ He concentrated harder, focussing in on what he sensed. ‘A whale, Jim. It’s impossible to tell what type but the mind is unmistakable. Great intelligence and age. It is a whale.’

‘What would it be like to touch a whale’s mind?’ Jim murmured, caught by the idea. Jim’s wondering imagination was one of the things that Spock loved about him.

‘It is fascinating,’ Spock replied.

He touched his fingertips to Jim’s face, and remembered. A hot summer day not far outside of San Francisco. The beach was crowded with people engaging in all kinds of activities that were far from attractive to the Vulcan at that time – lying in the sun attempting to brown their skin, kissing and canoodling with lovers, searing animal flesh on open fires. Spock walked with long strides far away from these gratuitous human beings, clambering over rocks slippery with seaweed and studded with limpets, past rock pools alive with creatures, until he reached a bay that was almost deserted. There was only one woman there, seated with what looked like an artist’s easel. She was easy enough to ignore, so he stripped down to his underwear and left his clothes and towel carefully folded about his padd, and went down to the sea.

The water was chill, colder than it had been in this present with Jim. He stood for a moment to let his body acclimatise, then struck out into the waves. He had not left Vulcan as a confident swimmer. Swimming was hardly a useful skill on the largely arid planet. But he had promised his mother that on a planet that was seventy-one percent water covered he would make efforts to become a strong swimmer. He swam further out into the water, aware of the myriad minds around him of fish and other ocean life. When he stopped and trod water he felt the curious mouths of fish touching his skin.

And then he caught it. The immense pull of a mind far above any of the others in the vicinity, eclipsing even the bright sparking thoughts from the woman back on the shore. At the same time he saw a great body rising up, breaking the surface of the ocean, releasing a plume of water in a great hissing spray. A whale! Probably a blue whale, he judged, due to the point in the season. It rose up and lay there, slick with water, barnacle encrusted like a boat left wrecked for years.

He had felt a healthy degree of caution. These creatures were huge, and as unpredictable as any intelligent creature that did not have absolute control of its emotions. But he felt no fear or antipathy from the animal, so he had swum closer. The animal stayed still, hanging in the water, unafraid of this small spindly-limbed thing that was approaching it. There was a curiosity in its mind. Spock could feel that without even touching it. He was fascinated by the whale, and the whale was fascinated by him.

So he had swum close enough to touch its looming body, tracing his fingers over the slick skin and the rough adhering barnacles. He had come up to its head and seen its tiny eye, gazed into the depths as the whale looked back at him. The creature had blown water up again from its blow hole, showering Spock’s head and shoulders with a cool rain. Suddenly, Spock had caught a sense of laughter. He had felt astonished. The whale was delighting in teasing him with its actions. Perhaps somehow it sensed his slight uneasiness with the situation and wanted to push his boundaries. Perhaps it just understood that such an action was whimsical and fun. Either way, the whale had deliberately showered him, and was gaining pleasure from his reaction.

He touched his fingertips to the whale’s massive head, just behind its eye. He had never melded with a creature on earth, human or otherwise. Previously his only experience with meld had been Vulcan to Vulcan, during his years of school. They had always impressed upon him the seriousness of the act. But if there was risk to anyone in such a link, it was to him, not the whale.

So he let his mind extend, reaching out tentatively, ready to withdraw at the first sign of alarm. There was no alarm. The whale accepted him with a wondering curiosity, and suddenly he found himself in the creature’s mind, seeing through its – through  _her_ – eyes. He felt the massive length of her body buoyed up by the water, felt the cool of the ocean drifting around her. He felt her curiosity and her sense of self and her wandering thoughts of loneliness and security in her aloneness, of her growing-up calf who was somewhere in the waters below, learning to be independent, her sense of fascination at this being who was managing to share her thoughts, to finally communicate after her years of wondering about these small pink creatures that ventured so tentatively into the water.

And then he withdrew. It wasn’t safe to continue any longer. He was losing his sense of self, losing his sense of above and below the water, of the danger to his Vulcan body of the cold all around him. He felt a wrench of loss as he slipped his mind away from the whale, and wasn’t sure if it was on his part or the creature’s. But he felt loss.

He came back to the present, his fingers on Jim’s face and the heat of the sun pushing away the memory of the cold. He had become almost dangerously cold during that swim with the whale and had been forced to drag himself back to shore and buff life back into his limbs with his towel. It had been a fascinating experience, but he was aware that sometimes he let his scientific curiosity get the better of him. Perhaps he was no different now to how he had been then, a nineteen year old living alone on Earth for the first time.

‘Let’s go home, Spock,’ Jim whispered. ‘I think it’s time.’


	30. Epilogue

It was hotter back on the farm in Iowa than it was on the coast in San Francisco. Back at the house Spock could hear Peter playing on a swing that Jim had strung up on one of the branches of the great oaks. He could hear music coming from the house where Jim’s mom was listening and working. Before him he could hear the wind rustling the dry seed heads of the full-grown wheat. Before him he could see the wind rustling the dry seed heads of the full-grown wheat. The field was golden, edged with green grass and trees in dark green leaf.  
In his hand he held the dark glasses that he had worn in all of his waking hours for the past week. He had finally been approved to take them off that morning, when tests at the hospital had shown that the nerve regeneration had grown beyond the most sensitive state. He had chosen to wait until now, alone with Jim on the edge of the wheat field.  
‘How is it, Spock?’ Jim asked quietly, after Spock had stood silent for some minutes.  
‘The field of vision is still somewhat restricted,’ Spock said after a moment. ‘There is some blurring in the distance.’  
‘But how is it?’ Jim repeated. ‘How do you feel, Spock?’  
‘Jim,’ Spock said softly, looking sideways at his lover. Even after all this time Jim didn’t know better than to ask such a question. Or was it that he knew just enough to ask such a question?  
It had been so long since he had really seen Jim’s bronzed and sculptured face. So long since he had been able to take in all at once the dark-blond hair, the shape of the nose, the hazel eyes, the soft lips and the set of his jaw. Just the sight of him made Spock want to take him by the hand and lead him into the wheat field and disappear below the level of the plants with him. He wanted to be utterly alone with him for years.  
‘I feel glad,’ he admitted finally, although glad was a very muted expression for the feelings that were actually churning inside him, below all of the carefully held disciplines.  
‘Glad,’ Jim repeated with a knowing smile. ‘Just glad.’  
He touched his fingers to Spock’s jaw, turning his face so that he could kiss him softly.  
‘I know you, my Vulcan,’ he said. ‘You’re a lot more than glad.’  
He put his hand on Spock’s arm and walked with him away from the field, back towards the farmhouse where Peter was swinging so hard that the leaves rustled in the trees. Now Spock could hear Jim’s mom singing along to the music. Despite everything, there was a lot of happiness very close to him at this moment. As they came into the yard Peter jumped from the swing in a way that momentarily gave Spock pause, and then ran to the two men calling out, ‘Uncle Jim, Uncle Spock, grandma’s making doughnuts!’  
‘Is she?’ Jim asked, exchanging a look with Spock. ‘Well, we’d better make sure we get them all eaten before the Enterprise is here, otherwise my doctor will throw me in the brig.’  
‘Aww, the ship’s not here for another week,’ Peter protested. ‘They’ll be gone long before then.’  
Jim ruffled his head. ‘You may be right, Petey, especially if I have anything to do with it. Your grandma’s doughnuts are the best. Why don’t you go ahead and see how she’s getting on?’  
Peter looked toward the house door then said, ‘Okay, Uncle Jim!’ and raced across the grass to the house.  
‘Oh to have his energy,’ Jim said with a smile.  
Spock caught a sudden sense of weariness from the human. He had endured so much loss.  
‘But Peter is fine,’ he said quietly. ‘Your mother is fine. You are all healing.’  
‘Yes, we’re all healing, Spock,’ Jim smiled. ‘You included. Come on, my lovely Vulcan. Let’s go into the house.’

The End


End file.
